Operation Apocalypse
by Mandalore Thrawn
Summary: When Good and Evil blur, victory becomes much more difficult. History is about to catch up with the galaxy in ways no one could have foreseen...
1. Prologue

**==Introduction==**

In the year 2263, planet Earth launched a colony ship containing representatives from each major nation. In twenty-nine years, it reached the planet Kimsar. The Kimsarye gladly received the colonist and offered much new technology to Earth. The humans settled one of Kimar's moons and began expanding.

In the year 2298, Earth sent another colony ship to settle Tanga III – a planet in the Tangean realm – despite warnings from the Kimsarye that the Tangeans would exploit the colonists. The humans landed, established an embassy with the Tangeans, and settled Tanga III with permission from the Tangeans in exchange for an annual tribute. For twenty years, the colonists were at peace with Tangea, and Earth flourished under the new imports from other worlds.

But King Saturnia of Tangea was not content with the state of things and raised the human tribute to an impossible sum. The human colonists refused to pay the outrageous price and King Saturnia sent troops to the planet to subjugate the human populace. The humans newly elected interplanetary president protested the act, as did the Kimsarye. However, the Tangeans would not relent and instead enslaved the humans until the tribute was paid.

The Zorog knew that an interplanetary war was quite possible and – hoping to gain territory – issued a manifesto to the effect that the Zorog army would intervene on Earth's behalf if the colonists were not released. The Tangeans at last released the colonists; but the Zorog had already launched an assault fleet, and soon, Zorog fighters were strafing Tangean cities. The colonists were recaptured as hostages; and Kimsar, Xrghthung, and Earth united in a Tri-Alliance to end Tangean aggression. The Destrians, Batshgirrlaks, and Freshuatan – having allied themselves with Tangea in a Quad-Tangean Confederation – raced their navies to the First Battle of Tangea. At first, the Tri-Alliance seemed destined to win the battle, but the Freshuatan Free Space Navy arrived and routed the Alliance fleets.

As battles blossomed across the galaxy, many smaller powers and single planets arrayed themselves on either line. The Zorog quickly realized the need for larger warships and built the _Zolocaust_-class Battleship, the first battleship starcraft in history. The humans made use of Zorogian technology and created the _Magog_-class Battleship, while the Kimsarye created the _Ghoul_-class Combat Cruiser. The new warships's first test was at the Battle of Neptune, where they destroyed the Destrian invasion fleet.

Many small-scale battles and catastrophes took place (such as the Zorogian weapons-malfunction that destroyed Egal), but no major battles occurred until the Tangeans shocked the galaxy with their new _Royal_-_Battlestar_ Warcruiser. Using cutting-edge technology and immense firepower, the Tangeans began to drive the Tri-Alliance Navy back. However, the Tangeans decided that the war was still too unsure and sent commandos to assassinate the Tri-Alliance leaders.

The Earthling President was assassinated, and the nations Canada, Australia, and Germany were forced to leave the war due to the tremendous drains on their economies. The Zorogs knew that the Tangeans would be victorious if the war continued much longer – especially as the Tangeans were infamous for the use of viruses and biological weapons. Thus, the Zorog launched an all-out assault on Tangea. Many Tangean Grounders – who were tired of supporting a war they had no part in – joined them, and together the Zorog-Grounder force captured Tangea. King Saturnia committed suicide rather than face capture, and the Zorog set up a puppet ruler.

Without the aid of Tangea, the Freshuatan Navy was quickly and soundly defeated at the Battle of Belda; with the defeat of the Batshgirrlak several weeks later, the Quad-Tangean confederation surrendered. The war, which had lasted for five years, was finally over. The Zorog moved quickly to seize control of the defeated systems but was stopped by the threat of intervention by the still-powerful Kimsaryen Navy.

Appalled at the destruction, all planets except Xrghthung joined in a Galactic Alliance to insure that there would be no more disastrous, large-scale wars. The Alliance concluded that battleships were too dangerous to exist, and passed legislation authorizing the destruction of the warships and banning the creation of such craft. When the Zorog disagreed, the Alliance blockaded the Xrghthung system. The Zorog finally complied, and all the planets destroyed their warships – or so the Alliance thought.

The GA chose planet Earth to be her capital, and chose one world to be a neutral center of commerce, naming her Tradeworld.

Years passed without major conflict. In 2399 – seventy-six years after the formation of the GA – a rampaging virus struck the Zorog. No fingers were ever pointed, but everyone knew that the Tangeans were responsible. The Zorog sealed themselves away from the rest of the galaxy and combated the virus with genetic tampering, special suits, and even cyborg bodies. Nothing worked.

The Zorog initiated a terrorist war against the GA, and to fight Xrghthung, Tangea left the Alliance. For centuries, the two races continued to fight each other, and finally, the GA established a galactic police force to maintain peace. The organization was called Star Command, and for a time, it seemed to work. Eventually, though, Star Command began to dissolve under heavy criticism as the GA President's secret police.

In the late 2900s, two energetic, idealistic, militant humans – Robert Nebula and Buzz Lightyear – took control of Star Command and revived it, bringing it to its present-day status.

In 2996, the Zorog Emperor Zurg attacked Tangea in retribution of his parents' assassination. However, Ranger Lightyear foiled the assault, and from that day on, Lightyear became Zurg's special target and archenemy. For aid in recuperation from the invasion, King Nova reentered Tangean into the GA.

About the same time, Zurg began his Z-AAT project. Three years later, Lightyear discovered that his partner Warp Darkmatter had been a double agent for Zurg for the past two decades, and the Captain took on three rookies to form Team Lightyear.

A great darkness now looms on the horizon, though the galaxy does not see it. The Zorog are not dead, and they plot for the day when they will once again rise to power…

* * *

**==Prologue==**

Hundreds of children stood before her, many looking alike – with livid purple Z's emblazoned on their foreheads.

"How can you serve Zurg!" she protested. "He's evil!"

One boy stepped forward; he had a biomechanical ear and two durasteel fingers. "What has the GA done for us?" He laughed bitterly, continuing: "Zurg has given us a life, a purpose – in his own way, even love. What have _you_ given us?"

Mira shook her head, unable to respond. A young woman stepped forward next; two cybernetic green eyes had replaced her own. "Nothing!" she snarled, lifting her rifle and firing.

Mira woke with a start, and reached for her clock. "Ten to six – I better move," she mumbled sleepily.

When Mira arrived aboard Star Command, she walked up to a LGM. "Do you know where Buzz is?" she asked.

The LGM stood still – save for his quivering antenna – as he sent out a telepathic call to the other LGMs onboard. "He's in the briefing room," he said a moment later.

"Thanks," Mira nodded, and headed for the center of the station.

As she drew closer, she could hear Commander Nebula's loud, authoritative voice. A hum of voices succeeded his, and Buzz walked out of the briefing room. "What's up, Buzz?" she asked.

"We're going to scout around Planet Z," Buzz answered. "Commander Nebula is sure there's something going on – we haven't heard from Zurg for months!"

"What do you think?" Mira asked.

Buzz looked confident. "Zurg is always up to something – the question is _what_, and _how long it will take us to win_."

"Always the optimist," she smiled.

They walked down the halls in silence for a few minutes before Buzz noticed the bags under Mira's eyes and her troubled expression. Finally, he asked, "Something bothering you, Ranger?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I keep having this weird dream."

Buzz looked a bit unsure as how to proceed, but plunged ahead anyway. "Dreams are a little out of my expertise, but… you want to tell me what it is?"

Mira shuddered, remembering. "There were children and teenagers – hundreds of them. A lot of them looked alike, except that they all had different mechanical parts in place of limbs and organs." She took a deep breath before finishing. "They worked for Zurg."

"Zurg??" Buzz said incredulously. "What would a bunch of kids be doing with _him_?"

Mira flinched in memory. "They said Zurg cared for them while we did nothing."

"Maybe Zurg has figured out a way to bother people's sleep," he suggested, looking a bit disturbed. "I wouldn't put it past him," he added with a forced laugh.

She laughed, too. "Maybe we'll find out soon."

Buzz stopped, looking unsure. "Er, uh, Mira?" he stammered.

"Yeah?" she asked, wondering what was bothering her captain. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, actually… yes, there is," Buzz sighed. "Commander Nebula is worried about you – about all these problems you've been having?"

"What problems?" Mira asked innocently.

"Now, Mira, we both know that you've been having problems lately – first those sudden pains, now these dreams. Just how many times have you had them, anyway?" When she didn't answer, Buzz held up a sheet of paper. "And according to this, your father is suffering from the same problems."

"What??" she cried incredulously. "Let me see that!" She snatched the paper, scanned it, then looked back up at Buzz. "He never told me this!"

Buzz shook his head. "Given the way you treat him, I can hardly blame him."

Mira's eyes flashed. "The way _I_ treat him?? Who's the one who's always trying to –"

"And, after all, he _is_ a king," Buzz interrupted. "He probably doesn't want to show any weakness."

Making an effort to calm herself, she muttered, "Yeah, well, he still should have told me."

"He probably should've," Buzz nodded, "but he _didn't_, and _you_ didn't, either."

Mira looked down at the floor. "Well, he just would've made me go back to Tangea."

"He's still your father." Mira snorted, but said nothing. Buzz studied the sheet and continued, "According to this, you're feeling pains all over – at any time with no patterns, no correlations to any known illnesses." He frowned. "In short, it's weird and persistent."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," she nodded.

"When did you start getting these pains?" he asked.

Mira thought about it for a moment. "About a month ago. Sometimes, it disappears, and then it gets really bad all of a sudden."

"Like on Tradeworld a few days ago, with Torque of all people," Buzz remarked, annoyed at the memory.

"Yeah, Torque always manages to get away!" Mira groused.

There was a pause, and Buzz swallowed uneasily. "Commander Nebula is going to put you on indefinite leave if this keeps up," he said finally.

"Leave?" Mira echoed. "But, Buzz, I can't go on leave! That'd drive me crazy!"

"I'm sure the Commander will give you a desk job," Buzz suggested with a sly grin.

Mira smiled sweetly in return. "Not unless you want me to be notifying your next-of-kin."

"I'll consider myself warned," he winced in mock-fear. He stared up at the ceiling in thought. "I wonder if Zurg has anything to do with this."

"Zurg has something to do with _everything_," Mira teased.

Buzz gave her a look and returned, "That's just about true." Mira shook her head, grinning. "Well, if he _does_ have something to do with this, I'll slap the bracelets on him for real this time!"

"That'll be the day," Mira smirked.

Buzz gave her another look. "I can _do_ it – he's just –"

"Extremely lucky," Mira finished. "At least, when it comes to escaping."

"I'll get him _this_ time," Buzz vowed. "I just wonder what he's up to right now…"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I hope to update once a week, though I have no guarantees when summer starts.

And thank you to my beta Skyfire for all of her help.

Please review!


	2. Ch01: ZAAT

**==Chapter One==**

**Z-AAT**

Shrapnel exploded around her.

The sharp shards of metal pierced her eyes, and she screamed. She dropped to the ground, writhing, as the world turned black around her. "_Ghett!!_"

Ghett was nearly to the objective point when he heard her scream; he stifled a curse and ran back. "Jereca, don't move! Guns'll track you!" he yelled. He figured that Jereca couldn't hear him above the noise, but she knew not to move. Ghett reached her, picked her up, and ran for safety.

A flamethrower on the roof above him spewed fire down; Ghett dropped Jereca and rolled out the flames. Then he quickly hoisted Jereca over his shoulder and ran, but the flamethrower had given the lasers time to track him. One blew his right ear off while another hit his arm. He kept running despite the pain and finally staggered into the Safe Room.

He set Jereca down as gently as he could and then fell facedown onto the hard floor.

"That's going to leave a mark," a female Tangean said weakly.

With effort, Ghett lifted his head and looked around. "Who made it, Ivy?" he asked the Tangean.

Ivy hung her head, quietly replying, "Giganticus and Fixer – we lost Racker and Triss." With a groan, Ghett dropped his head back to the floor. "I'm sorry, Ghett 10."

The boy just lay there… until he noticed a familiar hem in front of him.

"Evil Emperor Zurg! Sergeant Ghett 10, reporting for duty," he said through clenched teeth. He rose, tried to bow, and collapsed. Ivy shook her head.

Zurg lifted an eyebrow. "Good moves," he told Ghett, "and an excellent pain tolerance. I'm almost impressed."

"_Rule your pain; don't let it rule you_," Ghett recited. "But you said _almost_. Where did I fail you, my lord?"

Zurg almost looked angry. "You went back for Jereca 10 - you almost made it through unscathed, but thanks to your stupidity, you'll have to be repaired!"

Ghett stared at the floor. "Jereca 10 is an excellent sniper - far better than most Jercecas - and she's my only original team member," he pleaded.

Those last words seemed to soften Zurg, his anger disappearing. Now he seemed almost… sad. "She was, and she still could be, if I decide to give her new eyes. But it seems you're too attached to her, so…." He drew a laser pistol.

Ghett drew his knife. Zurg noticed the movement, and laughed. "That knife won't hurt me."

Ghett nodded, but gripped the knife tighter.

"Oh, all right - keep her!" Zurg said carelessly. "But if she ever gets in the way of your mission - assuming you survive, which doesn't seem likely at the moment – I _will_ kill her, before your very eyes! Understand??"

Ghett saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Good. _And_, despite your stupidity, I am considering giving your team OA - providing you don't foul up anymore." Zurg paused and let his words sink in.

Fixer, a Rhizomian, lifted his head.

"_Don't_ fail my trust, Ghett 10," Zurg warned, then turned to the others. "All of you. Don't disappoint me. I will send for team replacements immediately."

He summoned his med-hornets and ordered, "Take them to the med-center, and inform me when their repairs are complete." With a _swish_ of his cape, he glided to the door, then stopped. "On second thought, I'll supervise their repairs myself."

* * *

Ghett lay in bed - the repairs hadn't been as bad as he had anticipated. Zurg had been merciful and put them to sleep before beginning the operations.

Which was more than he usually did: they were lucky if he gave them shots to lessen the pain slightly.

Ghett reached up and touched his right ear - it felt like a regular ear, but he suddenly realized he heard a faint droning. Then he heard a door shut; he looked around but didn't see anything. He touched his ear again and heard voices; he recognized the voices of Evil Emperor Zurg and Major Darkmatter, but he could not understand what they were saying. He touched his ear once more, and they became perfectly clear, as clear as if they were right next to him.

"I want you to review Team 10, Darkmatter," Zurg was saying. "If they pass, I'll put them on Operation Apocalypse."

"Operation Apocalypse?" Major Darkmatter sounded hesitant. "Are you sure they're ready?"

"Of course I don't," Zurg shouted, "which is why you are going to review them, you idiot! Understand??" His voice calmed. "I have an appointment with Gravitina, so get to the hospital, get them on their feet, and get moving!"

Ghett heard the rustle of Zurg's skirt as he moved - he tried to listen harder but still could not hear Zurg's footsteps. "I wonder if he even _has_ feet," he thought aloud.

He could still hear Warp muttering, so he touched his ear and - once again - could only hear nearby noises.

He slipped out of bed and dressed into his uniform, then buckled on his knives, pistols, and slung a plasma rifle across his back. He ran into the hall and halted, unsure where to turn. Going on sudden inspiration, he touched his ear - sure enough, he could hear distant sounds. But this time, he tuned it to the hallway and heard several people breathing - and recognized the sounds of his team right off. He opened the next door over and said, "Giganticus, get up - the Major's coming!"

Giganticus shot out of his tiny bed and grabbed his tiny gear. "Let's go," he said shortly. Of the whole team, he generally talked the least.

Ghett ran into Jereca's room and saw that she was already finished gearing up. "I'm ready," she said, unnecessarily.

"How did you know?" asked Ghett, astonished. Jereca turned to him and he saw her new eyes: they were large, dark green, and utterly alien. Ghett shook his head. "I'd say _I'm sorry_, but with the kind of work we'll be doing, my guess is you'll need them."

"Always pragmatic," Jereca smiled. "I looked in your room and saw you grabbing your gear."

"X-ray," Ghett mused. "Very nice."

"I think so."

Leaving Jereca's room, the pair found the others already assembled in the hall. Giganticus had moved fast.

The team saluted Ghett, who returned the gesture. "Major Darkmatter will be here in a few minutes, so let's shape up -"

"So we can ship out!" the others finished.

"Sometimes, I don't think we'll ever get out of here," said Ivy disconsolately. "We'll just keep training for some mission, and die."

"Can it, Ivy," Ghett frowned. "Emperor Zurg will wait till we're ready - then I'm sure you'll get as much action as you can stomach."

Jereca shook her head. "Yeah, if we mange to survive this."

Ghett growled, whipped out a knife, and flung it at Jereca. She reached out and deftly caught it by the blade with two fingers. "Aye-aye, sir!" she said more cheerfully, and tossed it back.

Fixer stepped forward. "Sir, do you know when we'll be receiving replacements?"

Ghett gave the Rhizomian a Zurg-like glare. "When we do," he said darkly.

* * *

As Warp neared the Z-AAT wing of the medbay, he prepped his arm-cannon. Over several months full of nasty experiences, he'd learned to be prepared for anything those crazy kids could dish out. But what he wasn't prepared for was to find them standing quietly at attention in the hallway.

They all saluted as Warp drew near, and he shook his head. "A bunch of kids," he muttered savagely, then spoke aloud. "Hi, I'm Warp Darkmatter, and you're Team 10, right?"

"Yes, sir," Ghett 10 nodded. "I am Ghett 10, Team Leader; this is Fixer 9\10, Mechanic; Jereca 10, Team Sniper; Ivy 15\10, Poison Specialist and Team Medic; and Giganticus 15\10, Team Scout."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it before," Warp said, annoyed. "Let's get two things straight: (a), you call me Warp; (b), you don't salute."

"Yes, sir," they replied, saluting.

Warp gazed heavenward. "What have I done to deserve this - well, other than the…" he trailed off when he noticed that the clones were all staring at him.

"Well, uh, your new team members will be coming shortly, but I'm here to review you."

"Yes, sir," Ghett saluted. "I am sure you will find us fit for combat. Although if you had any special exercises in mind - such as the Killing House - you will find that we cannot perform to -"

"Full staff-officer expectations and normal combat-level," Warp finished with a sigh, "do you know how many times I've heard that?"

Ghett shook his head. "How could I, sir? But if I _should've_ known, I apologize."

"Yeah, whatever. And stop calling me sir!"

"Yes, si… I mean, Warp," Ghett said with some difficulty.

"Thank you," Warp sighed in relief. "Let's head for the training room."

As they walked down the hall, Jereca turned to Ghett. "He's odd, isn't he," she whispered.

"Yeah," Ghett said slowly. "But we're not supposed to criticize a superior officer."

"He told us to call him _Warp_," Jereca grinned mischievously. "He's not a _real_ officer."

"Jereca, if Evil Emperor Zurg -"

"Says he's an officer, he's an officer," Jereca finished flatly. "You're so predictable."

"My predictability is a ruse just to make everyone _think_ I'm predictable," Ghett grinned, "_or_ I'm just saying that to make you _think_ I'm really unpredictable, when in fact I _am_ predictable."

Jereca halted for a moment and looked toward the ceiling in a fair imitation of Warp.

Soon they arrived at the Training Room, and Warp - without any preliminaries - took a fighting stance in the middle of the football field-sized room.

"Ghett, come get me!" Warp called.

A bit uncertain, Ghett 10 saluted anyway and ran forward. About two and a half feet away, he stopped and circled Warp, using small jabs and kicks to measure the older man's defenses. Ghett maintained a perfect poker-face - counterpointing Warp, who smirked and frowned by turn.

Ghett lashed out suddenly with his foot, but Warp was ready and slid out of the way while dealing a blow to the boy. Ghett nearly fell back but quickly regained his balance and directed with a series of fast blows at Warp's face. Suddenly he switched tactics and stepped back, dropped, rolled - coming out of the roll, he hit Warp in the stomach with both feet.

Warp wasn't hurt thanks to his armor, but he fell back. Ghett leapt on him and gripped Warp's throat.

"Let go - _now_!" Warp gasped out. Ghett obeyed, and Warp promptly sent the boy flying. "That was pretty dumb," Warp smirked. "I didn't yield."

Ghett sprang up and tackled Warp with superhuman strength and speed. Soon, Warp was down, with Ghett once again holding his neck. "Let go now!" Warp ordered again.

Ghett just smiled and shook his head. "I yield," said Warp, his face expressionless. Ghett let go and received another instant flight, courtesy of Warp's fist.

"With all due respect, sir, you yielded," the boy angrily accused Warp.

"Yeah, I _did_," Warp nodded, "but unless you're fighting a Space Ranger or some other ultra-honorable idiot, don't _ever_ assume that an opponent is actually _serious_. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Ghett saluted.

"Stop calling me sir!" Warp shouted, exasperated. "I'm _Warp_!"

"Yes, Warp."

"Thanks. Okay... Jereca! Shoot the target dead center, ten times." Warp grabbed a remote, adjusted the controls, and activated a small, apple-sized target over three hundred feet away. The target zoomed across the room past a rate of 60mph.

Jereca raised her laser rifle and fired ten shots in rapid succession. Warp stared awestruck at the remote's screen: she had hit the target ten times!

Warp whistled. "That's some pretty mean shooting, Jereca. Keep it up." Jereca saluted with her rifle. "The _salute_," Warp groaned.

He turned to the Gargantian, and said, "Giganticus, run to Marker 10 and back." Giganticus saluted, touched his belt, and shot off for Marker 10. Watching him go, Warp could not hide his amazement. "How is he running that _fast_?? He looks like an old cartoon character!"

"He _does_," Ghett nodded. "He lost his legs and got cybernetic replacements."

"Yeah," Warp nodded back. "Most of you guys have some sort of cybernetic part without it being too obvious."

"Appearances are deceiving," Ghett smirked, touching his ear.

"_Very_."

Giganticus skidded to a stop before them, looking as fresh as when he'd begun.

"You made good time," Warp remarked, checking the chronometer on his cybernetic arm. Then he laughed at a sudden idea, turning to Fixer with a smirk. "What's the best way to start up a stalled T-2738 hyperdrive?"

Fixer considered the question. "Hit it with a wrench," he said at last. The rest of the team had to resist the urge to laugh.

"No, no - actually, he's right," Warp told them, laughing. "You usually don't get that one."

"I heard one mechanic say a hit with a wrench'll cure anything," Fixer shrugged.

"It can't cure a headache," Ivy felt compelled to point out.

"That's where you're wrong," Giganticus countered. The others turned to look at him. "Just hit them hard enough."

Everyone laughed at that one. "Let's go over your ZB fighters," said Warp, still grinning.

They left the training room and headed for the Z-AAT docking bay. Along the way, Ivy pulled out some small metal vials and began juggling them.

"_What_ is she _doing_?" Warp muttered nervously to Ghett.

"Those are her poison capsules," Ghett explained. "She does that when she's bored, or when she wants to loosen up."

"Playing with something that will _kill_ you – _painfully_ – is relaxing??" Warp really wanted to bang his head against something hard now – _really _**hard**.

"It is for her," Ghett shrugged. "Better get used to it fast, 'cause she does it a lot."

"Why me?" Warp groaned to no one in particular. "Why does it always have to be me?"

When they reached the docking bay, Ivy was still juggling her capsules, and it was about to fry Warp's already-frazzled nerves. "_Will you cut that out??_"

Ivy looked around, and wordlessly put the capsules away.

It took every ounce of Warp's self-control _not_ to bang his head against something.

* * *

Zurg was perched silently on his throne when Warp entered. "Well?" he demanded.

Warp shook his head, wishing he could wipe his memory of the past few hours. "They're a bunch of nuts!"

"What do you mean?" Zurg asked calmly, giving Warp an appraising look.

"They're _all_ crazy about killing, Ghett 10 can practically _hear_ my thoughts, the Tangean won't stop juggling her poison capsules around, and they, they…" Warp trailed off, losing steam and feeling better for the chance to vent.

"But is there anything actually _wrong_ with their performance?" insisted Zurg.

"Nooo, I guess not," said Warp slowly. "But I don't think these clones are _safe_." He forged ahead before Zurg had a chance to respond. "Okay, you want them to fight Star Command, I know. But I think they'll end up being a danger to _everyone_ - _including_ us. They're _too_ good... uncontrollable."

Zurg steepled his fingers and leaned forward from his seat, asking menacingly, "Are you _finished_?"

Warp nodded uncertainly.

"_Good_," Zurg said softly. Then he snapped his fingers. "I'll give them a test mission." He turned to a Grub, asking, "Who do we have on our Elimination List?"

The Grub pulled out an electronic clipboard. "Anything specific you're looking for, my Evil Emperor?"

"Oh no, nothing in particular… just someone who's been a nuisance and someone that the rangers wouldn't notice missing. We wouldn't want to give them a warning, now, would we?"

The Grub shook his head emphatically. "Hmm, let me see." He studied the papers for a minute, until Zurg began to impatiently tap the throne armrest. "Romac?" the Grub squeaked.

"No," Zurg said slowly, after a slight pause. "No, we wouldn't want Ranger Nova to notice he's gone."

The Grub nodded. "Perhaps Gravitina, then?" he asked. Zurg began drumming his fingers again, and the Grub gulped. "Err… Torque? He didn't deliver your order earlier today."

Zurg's crimson eyes began glow. "Perfect!" he laughed. "We mustn't start allowing underlings to go slack in their engagements... Isn't that right, Darkmatter?"

Warp paled, instinctively raising his arm-cannon a notch. Zurg simply laughed again. "Don't worry, Darkmatter - you're safe… For now." He stood and swept out of the room, calling over his shoulder: "Ready my ship... and get me Z-AAT 10."

* * *

**Quick Terminology:**

OA = Operation Apocalypse

Z-AAT = Zurgarific-Aggressive Assassination Team

ZB fighter = Zurgatronic Blitz fighter


	3. Ch02: First Mission

**==Chapter Two==**

**First Mission**

Zurg's Dreadnought lay a few kilometers from Tradeworld, outside the traffic lanes; the Dreadnought hid inside a massive cargo ship's outer hull. The crew eagerly watched a Star Command ship - _42_ - enter the atmosphere. "Shall we track them, my Evil Emperor?" asked a Grub.

"No, no!" exclaimed Zurg. "Every time we watch him, he gets suspicious thanks to that ranger's intuition of his! If we don't watch him, he won't interfere."

"It's weird how he does that," Warp commented, toying with his cybernetic arm.

Lightyear stood before Zurg's mind's eye, with his "Evil never wins" line. Zurg shook his head to clear it. "If evil never wins, then why are we here, Lightyear?" he whispered. "Why are we here?"

* * *

Inside the Z-AAT 10 shuttle, Ghett had just finished his inspection of the replacements to his team and declared them satisfactory. They were Triss (female Kimsarye, hacker), Shirkill (female Egalian, martial artist), Boomer (male Tangean Grounder, demolitions-expert), and Racker (male Kergenyen, heavy weapons-expert).

"What unit are you from?" Jereca asked the newcomers.

"Unit 6," Triss replied. "We lost the rest in training."

Fixer nodded. "Well, at least you're in a team that's going somewhere." Everyone glared at him – he shrugged and rechecked his gear for the seventh time.

"What's with the Fixer always being insensitive?" Jereca asked, exasperated.

Fixer folded his arms defensively, though his skin lightened in embarrassment. "We all come from the same donor – blame _him_!"

"I met Ghett 6 once," mused Ghett 10. "I always thought he liked the Hang-noose Strategy too much, though."

"Yeah, he always was enthusiastic about that one," Racker nodded.

Silence fell over the patched-together team for a minute. "This is gonna take some time," Ivy said finally. "It's weird how – even though we're clones – we're so different from our brothers and sisters."

Warp stepped in at that moment. "Get ready to go."

"We are," they said in sync.

"You're Major Darkmatter, aren't you, sir," said Shirkill.

Warp's posture drooped. "Yeah, and despite what everybody seems to think, I don't like being called _Major_ or _Sir_. So drop the titles!!"

The team saluted.

"You know, I've almost gotten used to that, and it _scares_ me," Warp commented. "Oh, and Zurg is going to turn on your mind-jacks."

"This'll be the first time we've used them outside a ship," Ghett told him. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Zurg wants constant contact," Warp shrugged. "It shouldn't be too disorienting."

"Have _you_ ever used one?" Triss asked pointedly.

"No."

"Then don't assume," Triss said shortly.

Warp rolled his eyes and gave the pale, ghostlike girl a once-over. "How'd a Kimsarye get good to be good at hacking, anyway?"

She shrugged, the gesture making her form waver briefly – as if a breeze could blow her away. "Appearances are deceiving. We're just as tangible as any other species – we just don't look like it, is all."

Boomer began idly tossing a grenade back and forth.

"Not you, too!" Warp groaned.

"Sorry," said the Grounder, stopping. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Whoa, hold on there – _scare_?? Warp Darkmatter isn't _scared_ of anything – it just gets on my nerves."

"And you just said that getting used to salutes scares you," Jereca smiled sweetly.

Warp opened his mouth, and closed it. He made a mental note to watch what he said around Jereca 10 – maybe all the Jerecas, for that matter.

He stepped back and surveyed the two lines of clones sitting there. The only readily noticeable differences lay in the gender and the species – otherwise, they could each almost be the same person. Except for Triss and Boomer, each clone had jet-black hair with a purple streak, and they all wore black. Those purple Zs glared angrily from their foreheads.

They all looked like killers.

And that worried Warp.

He sighed and took a seat, meshing his fingers together while he tried to figure out how to say this. "Do any of you remember anything from you were little?"

Triss nodded. "As clones, we have excellent memories."

"But we're supposed to bury everything that isn't experience," Fixer glumly continued.

"And _that's_ hard," Shirkill finished, propping her left elbow on her knee and resting her cheek in her palm. She frowned and turned to Fixer. "That's the most personal thing I've ever heard a Fixer say."

The team attempted a collective laugh, but it sounded hollow.

"I met a Triss on the first Bomb Day," Ghett mused. "One second, she was with me, and the next second, the bombs started falling…" His grey eyes grew distant, seeing the whole scene in his mind as clearly as if it was happening before him now. "First time I saw death," he said quietly.

Ghett looked so… _lost_. Warp was afraid to ask his next question, afraid to hear the answer – but he knew that he needed to know. "How old were you?" he asked softly.

Jereca turned to him, her cybernetic eyes whirring. "Six months. In a normal lifespan, that's two-and-a-half years."

* * *

Warp found Zurg alone in his private Throne Room. "Is the shuttle ready?" Zurg asked, somewhat distant.

"Yeah," Warp said slowly. Oh boy, how was he going to say this? "Um, Evil Emperor…" He growled at himself and shook his head. "What are you _doing_ to them? They're just kids! They're, what, four years old??"

"A bit older, I think," Zurg replied evenly. "And this is what they're made for."

"To die." It was more an accusation than anything else.

"If necessary, yes."

Warp's real hand clenched into a fist. "Look, Zurg – I know you hate Lightyear and the Alliance, but aren't you carrying this too far? The GA is only –"

"IDIOT!!" Zurg screamed. Warp recoiled in shock – he had never seen Zurg so furious. "You know _nothing_ about this!! It's not the Galactic Alliance, Star Command, or even _Lightyear_ that I'm really after!!"

"We-weeell, wh-who?" Warp stammered, thoroughly unnerved.

"I think it's time you learned your history," Zurg hissed. "Now get out. And if you say one more word, I'll kill you."

Panicked, the younger man nodded and backpedaled out of the room, not once turning his back to Zurg – who was lost in thought once more. Warp fumbled for the door and stumbled out into the hallway.

A brainpod wheeled down the hall toward him. "I have something for the Emperor – is he in there?"

"Yeah, but I really _don't_ think you should see him right now," Warp warned, barely suppressing a shudder.

The brainpod chuckled. "I've been dealing with Zurg's tantrums for years and he hasn't hurt me yet."

"Yeah, but –" Too late: the stupid pod entered the room, anyway. "Your funeral," Warp grimaced. He had only taken a few strides away when he heard a cry and a laser blast.

Zurg exited the Throne Room with a flourish of his cape. "Get some hornets to clean the room," he ordered a still-shaken Warp. "Then get to the shuttle – we're leaving now."

* * *

Team Lightyear tailed a hunchbacked figure into a seedy large apartment and halted at the door. "Crumford?" Buzz called. "Crumford Lorak, come out! We need to talk to you!"

A hatch in the door opened. "That you, Lightyear?" Lorak wheezed. "Long time, no see."

"Not nearly long enough," XR muttered, recalling the time that Lorak had cheated the 'bot out of his cash.

"Shh," Mira whispered. "Don't start."

"We're looking for Torque," Buzz told Lorak. "Have you seen him lately?"

"Uh, well, now that you mention it, I…" Lorak quickly changed his mind. "Ah, no, I haven't seen 'im."

"Are you sure?" asked Buzz. "I thought you were the best informer, for the right price." He dangled a wad of cash in front of Lorak's face – the rodent-like alien practically drooled over the money. But, with effort, he tore his gaze away from the beautiful bills.

"I haven't seen him," he insisted. "See ya, Buzz – uh, stop by later." He shut the hatch, and the team could hear his rapidly receding footsteps.

"Aww craters," Buzz muttered. "I wonder why he was so nervous." Suddenly, he noticed a distinct smell – that of a dirty JK-20 spacebike. He turned, dropped, and fired.

Said bike dropped to the ground, smoking, and a large yellow humanoid with wavering head-tentacles ran for cover. "It's Torque!" Booster hollered, unnecessarily. "Let's get him!"

The team launched into the air on their jetpacks and soon caught up with Torque. "You're under arrest for violating 2.7O3 of intergalactic code," Buzz declared. "You have the right to remain –"

"Aw, knock it off, Lightyear," the alien growled. "I ain't goin' ta prison again."

"Hmph, that's what _you_ think," XR snorted. "Now just drop the gun like a nice Torque and –"

Torque disappeared.

"Blast!" growled Buzz. "It was one of his doubles!"

"Oh well," said Mira. "Back to looking, I guess."

* * *

Zurg advanced through the ruined and twisted streets; pipes hung down, webs covered everything, and the sickening white mud seemed to be the healthiest thing in sight. Unless you counted the tentacle-headed alien waiting for Zurg.

"Hey, look, Zurg," he said, both sets of arms crossed, "I need some more time. Those stinkin' Rangers got to the house before I did. I'll go get it tonight."

"_Evil Emperor_ Zurg," Zurg corrected. He waved a dismissive hand as he continued, "And that won't be necessary. You've failed me, Torque, and I do not accept failure."

Torque uncrossed his lower set of arms and drew a blaster. "Hey, I thought you still employed that worthless moron, Darkmatter."

Zurg drew himself up till he towered over the criminal. "I grow tired of your insolence. I only tolerated you for so long because you were useful, but I don't need your kind anymore, so…"

"What, you think you can take me in that skirt?" Torque leered. "Besides, I've seen better fighting from a slug."

Zurg raised his hand, and a sable-clad humanoid dropped beside him from an overhanging pipe. "Torque, I'm giving you a head start of sixty seconds – I suggest you make the most of it."

Unnerved now and shaking his head, Torque turned and ran.

Ghett watched Zurg, who was mentally counting down the seconds. At last, the Evil Emperor nodded, and the boy shot forward. Above and around him as he ran, Ghett heard his teammates breathing, rats scurrying, and Torque's gunfire.

He sped around a corner to find five Torques standing in his way. He leapt, drew two long knifes, landed in their midst… In several slashes, he was on his way again.

"_Ghett!"_ called voice inside his head – Jereca's. _"I have him! He's in a red warehouse on the east side of Scarlet Corridor."_

"_I copy."_ Ghett opened the team channel and said: _"Ghett here – converge on red warehouse, east on Scarlet Corridor! Repeat: converge on red warehouse, east on Scarlet Corridor!"_

* * *

With no real idea of where to look, Team Lightyear was forced to search building by building in a city that spanned most of her planet.

"You know," XR commented, "the chances of finding one thug in an entire _planet_ without information on his whereabouts are pretty small."

"We've always managed before," Buzz countered. "All we need is time, luck, and a Space Ranger's perseverance – all of which we should _have_." He gave XR a pointed look.

XR shrugged and said no more. Nobody ever listened to the robot, anyway.

"Let's split up," Buzz said at last. "Mira, you take Booster. XR, you're with me."

* * *

Team 10 advanced cautiously through the warehouse, finally coming upon a locked door. "It's locked," Fixer complained.

"You don't say," Ivy said sarcastically.

"It won't be for long," promised Racker as he brought his mini-cannon to bear on the door.

"No," Ghett ordered. "Quietly."

"No fun," Boomer muttered.

Grinning, Ivy grabbed Ghett and ghosted him through – then Racker, then Shirkill. Those three advanced while Ivy phased the rest on through – even Boomer. The Z-AAT Royals and Grounders were genetically enhanced to allow each other their powers when in close proximity.

Ghett made a quick hand gesture, and Shirkill went aside to disappear into the shadows. Quiet as a specter, Ghett advanced through the junky room, his laser pistol in one hand and a long, serrated knife in the other. The others all held blasters at the ready, minus Racker with his mini-cannon.

Giganticus noticed Torque first. He crept up on the biker and drew a dart-launcher – despite its tiny size, the dart carried a poison powerful enough to kill a giant slug in less than a minute. The Gargantian took aim and fired. The dart embedded itself in Torque's coat but did not pierce his skin. He opened his mind-jack, grimacing at the data overload from the mini-computer. With effort, he stemmed the tide and gave the others a mental call.

Ghett heard Giganticus's call and crept toward a shadowy alcove. Torque stepped into the dim light, glanced from side to side, then hurried for the door. Out of nowhere, Shirkill tackled him and twisted his large neck. But instead of a _pop_ and a limp body, the criminal disappeared. The team, sans Jereca, gathered around the spot where the body should have been.

"Well, that wasn't so hard," Racker remarked. "That was too –"

"Easy, baby," a rough voice behind them crowed.

The team turned to hold a tight circle facing outward, their blasters ready. "The real Torque," said Ghett.

"Just drop the guns, kiddies – I gotcha covered," Torque laughed. And he did – with at least fifty Torque clones.

"Good odds," Boomer rumbled, nodding his large head.

"Ya think so?" Torque laughed again. "Then shoot!"

"_Where's Jereca?"_ Ghett asked via the mind-jack.

"_Up,"_ she replied tersely. _"Which one?"_

"_The one with the big mouth,"_ Triss told her, keeping her eyes trained on the enemy. _"Rear center."_

"_Got him,"_ Jereca confirmed. _"Here goes."_

They didn't hear a shot, but the Torques vanished – except one, lying on the floor with a tiny hole in the back of his head.

"Nice shot, Jereca," Ghett nodded.

"Cleanest headshot I ever saw," Fixer agreed. "Not that I've seen many."

"Still too easy," Ivy remarked. "Here's hoping our next mission has a bit more action."

Jereca shrugged. "Well, at least the mission's accomplished."

"But I didn't get to boom-boom," grumbled Boomer.

"And I didn't get to shoot," Racker added.

Shirkill reached up and patted the tall Kergenyen on the shoulder. "There'll be another time. After all, we've only just begun."

* * *

As the team headed back to the shuttle, Ghett reported to Zurg via the mind-jack. "Mission accomplished."

"Excellent!" Zurg crowed. "Hurry back."

They were about halfway to the shuttle when two Space Rangers appeared. The clones hid as the Rangers walked past. "No sign of him still," a robot complained. "Statistically, the odds are all against us finding him!"

"You said that," Buzz pointed out, "and that's not Space Ranger spirit, XR."

"If we're _Space_ Rangers, then what are we doing on the ground??" XR felt compelled to ask.

That would be an invitation to a first-class Captain's glare, except that said Captain had halted. "I think we're bein' watched," he said slowly.

XR's blaster arsenal sprang out. "You want me to herd 'em out?"

Buzz cast a wary eye over his surroundings, weighing the options. He shook his head. "No. We've gotta find Torque. Let's go."

The clones waited until the Rangers were out of earshot, then emerged from their hiding places. "We'll split up," Ghett told his team. "Nine of us together can attract too much attention."

The clones saluted and took off in different directions.

* * *

Mira and Booster stopped for a minute, slumping against a brick wall. "Let's catch our breath and think," said Mira. "Now, if I was Torque, where would I be?"

Booster glanced around for anything suspicious. "Killerville?"

"I sure hope not," Mira winced, recalling XR's brief trip to the old factory district. She stood straight and took a few steps forward, only to be nearly bowled over by a slight, black-clad humanoid with an armor-weave mask. Mira felt an inexplicable pull toward the stranger. "You're Tangean!" She reached out to help the other Tangean, but the stranger was already backing away nervously.

"Hey, it's okay – I'm not going to hurt you!" Mira frowned, studying the stranger. Looked female. "Who are you?"

The other woman just shook her head, turned, and ran. "Hey!" Mira called, running after her with Booster in tow. "Wait! Stop!"

The stranger did stop, but when she turned, she was armed with a submachine gun. A spray of plasma blasted towards Mira, who concentrated hard, allowing the plasma to harmlessly pass through her and hit a garbage can behind.

The other woman tossed a small capsule at the Rangers, which hit the concrete and shattered, releasing a white cloud of toxic gas. Mira and Booster quickly closed their bubble-helmets in response, avoiding toxic inhalation. Mira fired off a shot at the woman, who staggered back as the laser hit her right arm.

Mira felt a burning sensation in the exact same spot in her own right arm, and cried out. _What the…_

"Don't worry, Mira!" Booster hollered. "I'll get 'im!" He charged forward… and smacked right into the wall that the Tangean stranger had just ghosted through.

"You all right, Booster?" asked Mira.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Booster replied, his ears drooping in dejection. "But he got away."

"Well, I think _he_ is a _she_, but anyway, don't worry about it, big guy," Mira smiled patting Booster's arm. "Tell you what: why don't we check to see if Buzz and XR had any luck." She rubbed her right arm briefly, then opened her communicator. "Buzz? Buzz, do you read me?"

"Loud and clear," Buzz replied, his voice grim. "Mira, Booster, get to Section 73-b, the red warehouse. We found Torque."

Mira sensed more – Buzz's tone did not bode well. "And?"

"He's dead."

* * *

When Ghett was nearly to the ship, he called out the rest of his team. Everyone checked in, though Ivy sounded a bit stressed. Ghett switched to her private frequency, asking, "Something wrong, Ivy?"

"_Light wound, explain later,"_ she replied shortly. _"Not now."_

The shuttle was in sight and Ghett saw Zurg coming to meet him when the boy ran into another human. Ghett quickly pinned the stunned man to the ground and pressed a knife to his throat.

"Kill him," Zurg ordered.

"No!" the stranger cried. "Please!"

Ghett hesitated.

"_Now_."

Ghett shook his head, staring up at his master with wide grey eyes. "He's unarmed."

"Not all enemies carry weapons and wear uniforms," Zurg told him. "Those that _don't_ can be more dangerous than those that _do_."

"But what could he do?" Ghett argued.

"Report us to Star Command. People are always ready to hand me in, for a price."

"Now wait, Evil Emperor!" the man pleaded. "I haven't done anything, and I won't! I swear!"

Zurg ignored the man and fixed Ghett with his glowing crimson eyes. "Kill him."

"It's still not right. I don't mean to disobey orders, but…" Zurg was testing him, wasn't he. Ghett bit his lip and shook his head helplessly.

Zurg drew a small laser pistol and shot the man, who immediately went limp beneath Ghett's grip. Zurg eyed the boy keenly. "Be ready to kill anyone and everyone to fulfill your mission. Personal qualms can't get in the way."

"They won't, sir," Ghett said firmly. "Not on a mission. But the mission is over, and there was no reason to kill him."

"He would have told Star Command, and my plan – _your_ mission – would have been ruined."

"But you could have just – just…" Ghett struggled to find another option, a way out… but there were none.

Zurg stepped up to Ghett. "I know how you feel – I went through many trials myself. And I _didn't_ come through _alive_ by being soft!"

Ghett stood, drawing himself up to his full height. "I am _not_ soft," he said tightly, his grey eyes stormy. "I just didn't see the need."

"Do you now?"

"Yes."

* * *

Upon their return to the Dreadnought, Zurg immediately secluded himself in his chambers. Switching on a comm channel, he asked, "Did you pick it up?"

"Yes," came the reply. "Did he kill it?"

"No," Zurg answered, rather disappointed. "I'll think of _something_ for him, though – the disguised hornet was a good idea, anyway."

"Thank you, sir, but don't you think it's overkill – seeing if they'll kill civilians?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, they'll need to be good at it, and enjoy it!"

* * *

**Z-AAT**

**1.** Ghett: human male, Team Leader (Sergeant); tactician, strategist, knife expert

**2.** Jereca: human female, Second (Corporal); sniper – dead shot with _any_ form of projectile weaponry

**3.** Giganticus: Gargantian male; scout

**4.** Ivy: Tangean Royal female; poison specialist, medic

**5.** Fixer: Rhizomian male; mechanic, cook

**6.** Boomer: Tangean Grounder male; demolition expert

**7.** Triss: Kimsarye female; technician/programmer/hacker

**8.** Racker: Kergenyen male; heavy-weapons expert – excels in large-recoil, widespread-pattern guns

**9.** Shirkill: Egalian female; martial arts expert – extremely fast, thus able to get in close quarters before most targets have a chance to shoot


	4. Ch03: A Father's Care

**==Chapter 3==**

**A Father's Care**

King Nova paced the palace's halls, brooding. He'd felt it a day ago, a pain in his arm – Mira had been hurt.

A servant approached, announcing, "The out-worlders are entering the atmosphere, Sire. Any special orders?"

"No, just see to it that my daughter is all right," the King frowned. "And if she isn't…" He let the threat hang.

* * *

"Really, I'm fine!" Mira insisted. "It only stung my arm a little!"

"After the arm incident and _then_ passing out in the ship, the Commander decided that some rest was in order," Buzz countered, figuring that this was already the fifth time they'd been through the issue. "And hey, I don't like it any more than you do."

"You didn't need to tell my _father_."

"Rule 57.8: family members should be notified of the Ranger's injuries unless deemed a security breech by a commanding officer," XR recited quickly.

"Gee, thanks, XR," Mira said sarcastically. "You're a real help – and speaking of _help_…" She turned back to Buzz. "Would _you_ happen to be the one who wrote that rule?"

Buzz looked up at the ceiling and started whistling.

"The deadest giveaway ever created," XR remarked.

The comm light blinked. "Put it on the speaker," Buzz ordered.

Mira switched the comm on, and the voice of one of her father's officers came on. "You have permission to dock your ship in Landing Pad 3. Proceed on course 2-7-3 – any deviation from said course will be suppressed."

"Typical Tangean courtesy," XR muttered. "No offense, Mira," he added quickly.

_42_ followed the course and landed without any incident. As Team Lightyear exited, a group of Tangeans approached from the far side of the pad. An orange-robed Tangean led the procession – he had a long, solemn face, but his eyes lit up when he saw Mira. "I welcome you back to Tangea, Princess Nova! I trust that you will remain here this time?"

"I don't think so, Holbon," she said brusquely. "Just until my leave is over."

"Which will be some time, yes?" Holbon asked eagerly.

"Just until the LGMs can figure out what's wrong with her," Buzz informed him.

Holbon took no notice of the Captain, instead taking Mira by the arm and leading her into the palace.

"I thought they were going to add doors," Buzz said, irritated, watching the Tangeans disappear inside.

"Maybe the door is on the other side," Booster suggested hopefully.

"Here we go again," XR muttered. "Only one thing to do." A buzz saw popped out of his chest cavity.

"Let's not get hasty, Ranger," Buzz warned him. "We don't want King Nova angry at us again."

* * *

As Mira and Holbon entered the Throne Room, King Nova advanced from his throne. "Mira! I'm so happy to see you!"

"Hello, Father," Mira greeted stiffly. A look of sorrow came over her father's face and she almost regretted her tone.

"See to a room for the Princess," the King told a servant, then turned to Holbon. "Where are the out-worlders?"

"I left them outside, Your Highness," Holbon replied, distaste flitting over his aristocratic features.

"Well, bring them in before they damage the walls again," the King frowned.

Mira's mouth practically dropped – this was not the King Nova she remembered.

Her father turned to her, saying, "I hope your stay will be pleasant."

Mira could manage a warmer tone and even a small smile this time. "I'm sure it will be."

* * *

The rest of Team Lightyear waited on the landing platform, Buzz occupying himself by pacing. "Why won't they let us in?" XR complained. "We _did_ save them the last time we were here."

Buzz paused his pacing long enough to shrug wordlessly, then resumed.

"That's _really_ getting on my neural receptors, Buzz," XR told him.

"Quiet, XR!" Booster chided indignantly. "You're not supposed to talk to your superior officer like that!"

"And _you_ sound like you did when the parasite took control of you," XR countered.

Booster winced. "Sorry, XR."

"I didn't mean that _seriously_, big guy!"

Buzz heaved a sigh. "That's enough – both of you."

Holbon ghosted out to them, several guards and servants following. "My apologies for keeping you waiting," he said stiffly. "King Nova has graciously consented for you to move around the palace at will for the duration of your stay – three Tangeans will be assigned to you as personal ghosters."

Booster's and XR's jaws dropped.

"Well, thank you," said Buzz, relieved. "We appreciate your hospi –"

"Quiet, Lightyear!" Holbon snapped. "If I had it _my_ way, you wouldn't even be allowed to _breathe_ the same air we do!"

XR opened up his mouth, but Buzz quickly gave him a nudge with his foot, stopping the 'bot. Booster just looked somewhere between shocked and hurt.

Holbon beckoned to three servants, one of which snapped at him in High Tangean. Holbon simply glared, and the other Tangean backed down.

"I will leave you to yourselves," Holbon told the team as he walked away.

"Hello, I am Buzz Lightyear," Buzz greeted the "assistants." "This is Booster and XR."

The only response he received was stony silence.

"Yes, well, um… what are _your_ names?" he tried.

Still no response.

Buzz heaved another sigh, his whole posture drooping this time. "Could you please just ghost us through?"

* * *

The next few hours weren't the most enjoyable Team Lightyear had ever experienced. Everywhere they went, people either stared at them in shock or just ignored them completely. But, to their surprise, they found several doors.

"Why do so many species have a superiority complex?" XR asked glumly.

"Just remember," Buzz said out of the corner of his mouth, "they haven't been in the Galactic Alliance for very long. It may take some time to adjust."

"Or maybe they'll just be this way forever," XR countered disconsolately.

Buzz shook his head and turned to his other teammate. "You've been quiet lately, Booster – something bothering you?"

"No! Well, _yes_… I don't know." The Jo-adian's ears drooped as he sighed. "I guess I'm just worried about Mira."

"No crying, please," XR moaned. "We wouldn't want the Tangeans to lock us up for flooding the palace."

"No, you wouldn't, and I'm sure that one so large could manage it," a wry voice came from behind. The teammates turned to see a young Tangean in a navy-blue uniform approaching. "Lieutenant Dolb Doppler, sirs – it's a pleasure to meet you." The man was tall and well-built, with blond hair and blue eyes.

"Are you sure you're a Tangean?" XR asked incredulously.

Booster nudged the 'bot with his foot. XR, tired of this treatment, glared at Booster, who looked as innocent as a Jo-adian could – which is _extremely_ innocent.

"Doppler?" Buzz echoed. "Are you related to _Fop_ Doppler, by any chance?"

"His brother," Dolb nodded. "I am his elder by four years, and a Lieutenant in the Tangean Special Operations Corps, or TSOC."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant," Buzz smiled. He offered his hand, and Dolb promptly shook it. "You're the first Tangean male ever to shake my hand."

"For that, I am sorry," Dolb said frankly. "And these are the famous XR and Booster?"

"Yes, they are!" XR grinned, his attitude brightened by the word _famous_. "You've heard of us?"

"Indeed, I have. I've seen news clips about you, _and_ I took a course in potential enemy elimination. My unit was assigned to Team Lightyear, and the simulation went perfectly."

"Ah-haa," Buzz said slowly, not altogether thrilled. "You're taking courses in _killing_ us?"

Dolb laughed heartily. "I anticipated a more violent reaction. Will you be staying here long?"

The sudden switch of topics momentarily lost Buzz. "Ahh, we'll be leaving today. We just wanted to see Mira settled in."

Dolb nodded, regarding Buzz respectfully. "You're a good friend, and Her Highness couldn't hope for better. And don't worry about her much – there won't be a repeat of last time. Several TSOC units – including my own – are stationed around her, and we are _much_ better than those stupid palace guards."

Buzz sighed in relief. "Well, that's a load off my mind."

"I must leave now – I have duties to attend to." Dolb began to stride away, but said over his shoulder, "It was a great pleasure to meet you. I hope we have a chance to talk later."

"Hmph, nice guy," Buzz commented, once Dolb was out of earshot.

"Yeah, despite his having killed us," XR said sourly. So much for the famous XR and Booster.

* * *

Some time later, Buzz, Booster and XR found Mira, now dressed in one of her many royal gowns. (Buzz had the brief thought that she looked really good.)

"Hey, guys," she greeted glumly. "How bad has it been?"

"At first, pretty bad," XR replied. "But then – no, wait, never mind, it was all bad."

"We met Dolb Doppler," Booster pointed out. "_He_ was nice."

"_Dolb Doppler_?" Mira asked incredulously. "What's _he_ doing here?"

"Is there a problem with his being here?" Buzz queried.

"Not with _me_, per se," Mira replied. "But I thought that Father might object to his coming back."

"Why's that?" Booster asked.

"Weeeell, because he doesn't agree with most Tangeans about outsiders."

"Yeah, he was pretty nice," said XR. "Despite the fact that he killed us," he added in a mutter.

"_Nice_? He was _nice_ to you?" Mira's eyebrows arced skyward. "He isn't disliked because he advocates equal sentience – it's because he's part of Holbon's group."

"In other words?" prompted Buzz.

"He belongs to the party that would prefer to wipe out anyone who's not a Tangean Royal," she said flatly.

"What??" Booster cried. "No way!"

"Whoa there," said XR, throwing up his hands. "Dolb was really friendly, Mira. Maybe you've heard wrong reports on him."

Mira turned that over in her mind and shrugged. "I guess that's _possible_. Court politics are confusing at best, and I don't spend enough time here to know for sure."

"He said he wanted to talk to us again," Buzz told her. "Maybe we'll find out then."

"Okay, but try to be subtle." She gave XR a pointed look, then continued. "Whatever else he is, he's a soldier _and_ a politician – a generally _dangerous_ combination if you can get the two to mix."

* * *

Buzz decided to have Booster and XR return to the ship while he took a quick last look around. He strode down a long corridor filled with tapestries, banners, and larger-than-life portraits. The only other person in the hall was his Tangean attaché, or so he thought.

Dolb strode in from the far end of the corridor. "Captain Lightyear!" he exclaimed pleasantly. "I was hoping that I would see you once more before your departure."

Buzz found it hard to believe what Mira had said about Dolb – he seemed so friendly. But appearances can be deceiving, and he remind himself of that fact. "Hi, Dolb," he smiled. "Call me Buzz, please."

"Very well, Buzz," Dolb smiled in return. "I hope Tangean hospitality hasn't bothered you too much."

"No, it's been fine," Buzz replied politely. "Better than last time, anyway.

"It's sad, isn't it? Most Tangean Royals would rather that all other races – including your own – did not exist."

Buzz debated with himself for a moment on the best way to proceed and finally opted for openness. "But aren't you one of them?"

Dolb laughed. "So, you have been listening to palace gossip." He frowned briefly. "You should not listen to that as a rule; however, it is true that I respect very few aliens – very few of my own people, for that matter. But I certainly have nothing to do with that racist Holbon."

"Well, that's a relief," Buzz smirked tiredly. "I was afraid for a while that you had an ulterior agenda."

Dolb gave the human a quizzical stare. "Who said I didn't? In court, you will find that _everyone_ has their own agenda, and mine is high. But don't worry," he hastened to assure a frowning Buzz. "My agenda will not harm the royal family – or the galaxy. I would die for my King and my Princess first."

* * *

The next morning, Mira wandered the palace, her feet eventually taking her to the royal gardens. King Nova was there, sitting on a bench in a grove of trees. "I didn't think _you_ would come to the garden, Father," Mira said by way of greeting.

The King nodded. "Yes, ever since the pains began, I have found it peaceful – relaxing."

Mira sat beside him. "Did you feel it?"

"The arm?"

She nodded. "And the faint?"

"Mm. It's strange and discomforting. It's as if…"

Mira pounced on that. "As if what, Father? As if what?"

The King shook his head. "Never mind – it can't be."

"Father, do I have to –"

"_You_ will not do _anything_," he said, quietly but firmly. "Do you remember when Emperor Zurg invaded Tangea?"

"_Evil_ Emperor Zurg," Mira corrected automatically. "And of course, I remember – how could I forget? I wasn't little."

"No, you weren't," he nodded. "And neither was your sister."

Her cerulean eyes widened in disbelief. "Father, are you saying –"

"I am not saying anything!" he snapped. "But it's strange that you and I should feel so much pain that is not our own. And then the Tangean that you shot – you and I _both_ felt it."

Mira shook her head, still disbelievingly. "Are you sure this isn't some sort of hereditary problem?"

"My doctors are nothing if not thorough," he assured her. "If there was something wrong, they would have found it."

"Then you really think that she…" Mira couldn't finish the thought. It'd been six years, and though Mira was a fighter and certainly no defeatist, she'd given up hope long ago.

"I don't know, but I can hope." The King wrapped an arm around his daughter. "You must understand, Mira. I lost your sister _and_ your mother, and I don't want anything to happen to _you_. And I'll do _anything_ to keep you safe – that's _my_ priority as a father."

"I _do_ understand, Father… but you're still too protective."

"Perhaps. Perhaps." An idea struck him, and he rose from the bench. "I must see Captain Aldo – I have a plan."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Thank you, everyone, for the reviews; and thank you, Kila, for the favorite!


	5. Ch04: Allegiance

**==Chapter 4==**

**Allegiance**

"Argh," Ivy growled. "Just get it over with, will you??"

"One moment," the med-hornet droned as he extracted a needle from her arm. "Very stupid of you to get shot."

"I already got a blowing-up from Zurg – I don't need anything from _you_."

"I think you do," the 'bot said smugly, "or you wouldn't be here."

He applied some salve to the wound, and Ivy clenched her teeth. "Why does healing hurt so much?"

"I would guess that it has something to do with not wanting to get hurt and having to endure more pain to get better, so you don't get hurt in the first place."

"Get your servos fixed, you're as – _argh!_ Do you have to be so _nasty_ about this?"

The 'bot let out an electronic sigh. "You would think that a warrior and a doctor wouldn't complain so much about medicine." He put some gauze over her arm, decided he didn't like the positioning, and tore it back off. Ivy paled slightly as it tore from her skin.

"Finish it quickly or I'll dismantle you piece by piece," she warned him.

"No need to be so grouchy – I'll be done in a moment. Besides, this is _your_ fault, so why do you get so angry with _me_?"

"I thought Zurg hated AI 'bots ever since NOS-4-A2," Ivy grumbled.

"_Evil Emperor_ Zurg found that a medbot _with_ AI is vastly more useful than one _without_ – at least for you clones."

"Yeah, yeah," she sighed. "So how bad is it?"

"Hmm," the droid intoned. "A bad burn – it cooked your arm like steak, like meat slowly turned, actually more like a -."

"Shut up and tell me how bad it is!" Ivy shouted. Ohhh, Ghett would have her hide if he ever heard her yell like that – he was _such_ an officer.

"It's not likely to cause extreme discomfort, providing that you stay off it. There, that should do," he finished happily.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. After all, I _do_ have a soft spot for clones: they're just like family."

Ivy winced. "I should shoot you."

"But you won't," the medbot said smugly. "Evil Emperor Zurg would be sooo upset."

Ivy stood and stalked out of the medbay. "We _aren't_ 'bots," she muttered savagely.

"Of course not."

Ivy turned and saw Evil Emperor Zurg. "My lord."

"Ivy 10. Your arm is better?"

She nodded. "It wasn't _too_ bad."

He nodded back. "I surmised as much." He paused and shook his head. "Ivy, you are _clones_, not robots. You think, you feel, you have souls of your own. A 'bot can achieve the first two… but nothing can give a piece of metal the latter."

"Are you sure?" Ivy asked, somewhat bitterly. "Sometimes we wonder… did you program us?"

"No," he answered honestly. "At least, no more than any other soldier is programmed – and they are, Ivy. They are," he said softly, almost to himself. He seemed to be doing that more and more often lately. "In time, you'll see this for yourself; but for now, you must trust me. Will you?"

"Yes, sir," the clone saluted.

"No," he said, his voice rising slightly. "Say it as a _person_, not as a soldier."

"But, sir," she frowned in confusion, "I –"

Zurg rested a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. "You're not just a mindless drone or an intelligent machine – you are a living, thinking being. And I am to you what fathers are to their children. I _am_ your father, and _you_ are a daughter to me, not a clone. Do you understand?"

"I… _think_ so," she said slowly, still confused by Zurg's sudden friendliness.

He could see that she _didn't_ understand, and he sighed. "Why do you think I make you do things that could kill you?"

Realization came, and in a twisted way… it made sense. "You… you train us to death… so we'll live."

"Partly. You're still missing something, but I'll let you figure it out. Ivy, don't think that it _doesn't_ hurt me when one of you dies, because it _does_." He paused again. "You are my children, but you are still my tools."

"Your weapons," she said softly. _If Ghett ever finds out I said that, he'll kill me – slowly_.

"My weapons," he agreed. "Is that a problem?"

"Not really," Ivy said with a small smirk. "A civilian's life sounds boring and worthless."

"Hm. Do you know what those civilians would do to you if they knew you were a clone?"

"No…"

"They would hate you – treat you like a 'bot, a slave," Zurg said heatedly. "They would whisper behind your back – some would even try to kill you." He stopped and looked at her long and steadily.

Uncomfortable beneath the sudden scrutiny, Ivy nervously combed a hand through her black hair, wondering what exactly he was thinking.

He laughed abruptly, almost making her jump. "Your kind would hate you beyond belief, just as they hate me."

"Why do they hate you that much?" Because, of course, just about _everyone_ hated Zurg… but _beyond_ belief?

He sighed. "I am Zorog, and they are Tangeans. They wiped out my people a long time ago."

Ivy opened her mouth and closed it, unsure if she should risk trying to lighten the mood. Finally, she took the plunge, asking, "Then how are you here?"

Oh, sweet mother of Venus. One look at Zurg's face told her that that had been a stupid thing to say.

"What are you?" he asked coldly.

"A clone? A soldier?" Ivy tried, hoping for some sign of acknowledgement. Edgy – ready-to-use-her-poison-capsules-at-the-slightest-provocation kind of edgy – she continued, "An assassin? A ZAA? A Tangean?"

Mark. "And what did the Tangeans do to me?"

Ivy wanted to back away, but for once, fear kept her rooted to her spot. "They killed your people," she said in a small voice. She'd never felt so vulnerable in all her short life.

"And so much more," Zurg whispered to himself. His fists clenched, and it took a lot of willpower to calm down. "You are a Tangean, and I am a Zorog, one of the last of my race. I _should_ kill you, but you are my vengeance _and_ the Tangean's hope. No matter what I do to _them_, you and your sisters will uphold your race. You are not a blight on the galaxy as _they_ are – you are pure. You are my family, the family I took from those I hate."

It was too much for Ivy to process just then – too much data at once and not enough time to sift through it all to make some sense of it. And Zurg just went on, a definite – slightly maniacal – rant by now.

"You, Ghett, and Jereca are my greatest pieces of revenge upon two peoples and one cruel galaxy! Your kind especially – what they've done to me, to entire _races_!" He stopped and forced himself to really cool down this time, and it was a full minute before either spoke again.

"Sir…" Ivy began tentatively, "did you want me to understand you?"

Zurg laughed slightly. "Not really. It's all right, Ivy: I don't think many people would understand. I'm not exactly the easiest person in the galaxy to understand."

"What I really don't understand is how my… my _race_ could wipe out yours. How _anyone_ could do – what's the word? – genocide."

"Mm. I think I'll you'll understand in time, Ivy. Performing genocide on the Tangeans would be perfectly just but highly unsatisfactory – what _I_ am going to do will be… sweet."

* * *

"Dead," Ghett 10 said flatly as he held a wrist against Racker's throat. "You move too slow."

"I'm heavy weapons, not knives and martial arts," the Kergenyen defended. "I prefer killing people over ten feet away – more fun and cleaner."

"He knows the first part and disagrees with the second," Fixer interjected from a corner, where he was tinkering with an engine. "But His Sergeantness insists that we all be good at close combat, and from what I gather, he's more insistent on that than most Ghetts."

Shirkill sprang from her Indian-style sitting pose on the floor. "I'll have a go, then."

"Right," Ghett nodded, tossing her a knife.

Shirkill dropped it with a look of distaste. "Cowardly. And a waste of steel when you have a hand."

"Not all of us have claws," Ghett shrugged.

"No claws or knives," the Egalian insisted. "Just limbs."

Ghett cocked an eyebrow wryly and sheathed his knife. "I'm guessing that the consequences of this engagement will pain _me_ more than _you_."

"Hate it when he talks like that," Jereca remarked to no one in particular, pausing in cleaning her rifle to watch.

"I think it sounds better than the slang you use," Triss countered.

"What slang?" Jereca asked casually. "_I_ talk normally – _Ghett_ talks like a lawyer."

"How would you know what a lawyer talks like?"

"How do you even know what a lawyer is?"

"I'm not ignorant!"

"Neither am I!"

"Where's Ivy?" Fixer interjected again. "She needs to be here to cut in."

"She has a date with the med," Ghett intoned solemnly.

"Ouch," they said in unison. "That's gotta be painful."

"Hmm," Triss said, amused. "Does _every_ squad do that?"

Ghett beckoned to Shirkill as he answered. "I wouldn't be surprised – that 'bot is pure cruelty incarnate in metal."

"Ooo, incarnate," Fixer crooned. "'Nother big word."

Ghett didn't have time to jump on Fixer's case this time, because Shirkill attacked. Her blows and kicks were _fast_ – almost too fast for Ghett to defend himself. They traded blows for a full minute, then Shirkill switched tactics. She threw her body backwards, her legs flying upward. She caught Ghett's chin and he fell back, stunned.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he ruefully rubbed his chin. "Good play." He gave a slight laugh. "_Too_ good, really. Excellent move."

"Another go?" she offered. "I'm sure you'll do better."

Ghett shook his head, saying wryly, "I'd prefer not to have a biomechanical chin, if that's all right with you."

Shirkill shrugged and returned to her sitting post. "So, when'll Ivy be back?"

"Soon," Jereca replied, resuming her rifle-cleaning.

"Polish that thing much longer and you'll be able to use it as a mirror," Fixer commented.

In another corner, Boomer was napping and snoring loudly, eliciting a frown from Giganticus. "He gets any louder and we'll have to put a muffler on him."

"I think I've got one if you want it," Fixer chuckled.

Triss glanced up from her laptop. "Little less noise, please – I need to concentrate and finish this code so I can give it to Corporal Alam tomorrow."

"I think partitions or a few walls might've been useful," Jereca remarked. "This is such a big room."

"My guess is that privacy wasn't a high agenda," Ghett mused.

At that moment, Ivy stepped into the room. "Have anything to eat?"

Fixer tossed her a ration cube, eliciting a frosty glare from the Tangean. "People do that to me too much," he complained.

"And _why_ do you think _that_ is?" Ivy asked sarcastically.

Ghett chuckled and shook his head – the Ivy and the Fixer _never_ got along. Or _almost_ never, anyway. "Fix her some _real_ food, Fixer."

"Fix-her food, Fixer? Doesn't that sound a little – I don't know – repetitive, maybe…"

"Shut it, Fixer," Ghett snapped.

"Relax, Ghett," Jereca soothed. "It's not Fixer's fault he's a –"

"Charming Rhizomian with good looks, a wonderful personality, and an understanding nature," Fixer finished grandly.

Ivy crossed her arms. "Uh, Fixer?"

"Yes?"

"The _food_??"

Fixer nearly stumbled over himself as he made a mad dash to the team's kitchen. "Won't be more than a minute!"

Jereca walked over to where Ghett was sitting and flopped down beside him. "Sooo… What's eating _you_?" she asked softly.

Ghett's arms were wrapped around his legs and his grey eyes were distant. "I think… I think I failed Evil Emperor Zurg," he replied quietly. "He might not give us another mission."

"How could you have failed him?" Jereca frowned. "Aside from Ivy's wound, the mission went off without a hitch."

"Except that there was a civilian that stumbled upon us – Zurg and I – before the rest of you got back to the shuttle."

"A civilian?" Jereca's frown deepened, and she hugged herself. She thought she could guess at where this was going.

"The Evil Emperor wanted me to kill the civilian, and I didn't."

"Mm," Jereca nodded her understanding. "So what happened?"

"Zurg killed him."

"Mm." Jereca brushed her black hair out of her cybernetic eyes and shook her head. "You know what? I think that Zurg would understand – I mean, he can't have been _born_ evil. You choose your own direction in life, you know?"

Ghett snorted derisively. "Okay, first: Evil Emperor Zurg _never_ understands. Second? _We_ don't choose our direction in life – that direction was chosen for us before we were ever created."

Jereca shook her head again. "I don't believe that. About our lives, I mean. On some level or other, _everyone has a choice_. On a small scale, we choose to some extent whether we're going to fail or whether we're going to succeed. On a large scale… who knows what's in store for us ten – even five – years down the road? I'm sure that not even Zurg himself knows that. What happens _after_ OA is complete? _Nobody knows_. I think that we're going to have to make choices, and we have a lot more free will than you might think, Ghett."

They all heard a knock and threw themselves into position to cover the door – and Boomer woke up and grabbed two grenades. The door opened noiselessly, and Warp stepped in. He quickly preempted the clones by saying, "No major, sir, Darkmatter, or salutes – just plain Warp."

The clones nodded and stood. Fixer chose that moment to return from the kitchen, and promptly dropped the tray of food he'd been carrying. "Major Darkmatter, sir," he saluted.

"_Please_, just – oh, never mind," Warp sighed resignedly.

"The food, Fixer? Or would you prefer I eat _you_?" Ivy grinned maliciously.

"You're not a Kergenyen," he reminded her, backpedaling just the same. "And even Racker has never shown that tendency."

"Don't give me any ideas," Racker warned.

"Yeah well, if I can cut in here?" Warp asked dryly. "Evil Emperor Zurg wants to see you, Ghett."

Ghett paled slightly and marched wordlessly out of the room. Warp shrugged helplessly at the clone's inquiring looks and left.

"I hope he'll be all right," Triss said softly.

"Don't worry," said Ivy, frowning thoughtfully, her mind returning to her odd conversation with said Evil Emperor. "Zurg won't kill him."

"That's not what I'm afraid off," Jereca said worriedly, folding her arms.

"Oh well," Fixer sighed theatrically. "We could use a new sarge, anyway."

Several boots followed Fixer as he ducked back into the kitchen.

* * *

Ghett entered the Throne Room… and there was no sign of the Evil Emperor. _If you want to play, I'll oblige you_. The boy touched his right ear, and sounds that no fully-organic human could hear on either end of the spectrum now came easily to him. And finding Zurg should have been easy – it _should have been_. But he couldn't hear anything – no breathing, no rustling, no movement in the slightest.

"All right, Emperor Zurg," he called, throwing up his hands. "I give up. Where _are_ you?"

"_Evil_ Emperor Zurg," a voice corrected from deep within the shadows. Ghett turned and saw two crimson eyes glowing at him.

"My apologies, Evil Emperor Zurg."

Zurg stepped out into the dim light. Ghett briefly wondered if the man ever wore _anything_ other than his armor suit. "You gave up quickly," said Zurg, a trifle disappointedly.

"I'm pretty sure by now that only those you _want_ to find you will find you," Ghett replied. And that was the truth – to the clones, Zurg was just short of a god.

"An interesting idea," Zurg mused. "I wish it were true." He paused, then said briefly, "Come with me." He set off down a long corridor, too narrow to let two walk abreast.

Ghett sprinted after him and remained at a respectful distance during the silent walk. At last, Zurg stopped, and a door hissed open. Daylight – if such a reddish, dying light could be called that – poured into the barely-lit passage. "I have a test for you," Zurg finally told Ghett. "Painful, but… necessary."

"I will not fail you, my lord."

"Swear it."

Ghett raised his chin and looked Zurg directly in the eye. "I have," he said firmly. "What I say is my oath."

Zurg laughed cruelly. "We'll see. This pain won't be physical – at least, not unless you fail."

They entered a control room with transparisteel windows that stretched from floor to ceiling and formed the room. Several brainpods and Grubs were there, as was a tall, armored being that looked slightly like Zurg. Ghett had seen him or her only once before. One of the windows opened, and Zurg turned to the clone. "Go to the field below."

Ghett raised an eyebrow, but saluted. He ran for the window, flipped over the edge, tucked his arms and legs in, and somersaulted to slow his fall. He landed safely on all fours like a cat. No one was in sight, so he stood and waited.

He heard the newcomer before he saw him. He turned… and saw himself. "Ghett 13!" he grinned boyishly. "It's been some time!"

"It has been," 13 nodded. "Last time we worked together was in Tactical Training 207."

10 smiled at the memory. "So how has your team been doing?"

"They're dead," 13 said flatly. "Wiped out during the undersea exercise – somebody goofed and our tanks weren't filled."

"Oh." 10 stared at the ground. "I understand… _My_ only original is Jereca."

13 glared angrily up at the tower. "_He's_ up there, isn't he."

"Who, Zurg?"

"You know **** well who I mean!" 13 snarled fiercely.

10 bridled. "Don't you _ever_ swear about the Emperor again!"

"Or what? I've lost my team – what more can he do?"

"13 –"

"I'll tell you what _I'm_ going to do – I'm going to _kill_ him."

10 recoiled, repulsed. "That's against the code, against everything we've ever believed!" Studying his counterpart's face, he suddenly understood. 13's grey eyes looked wrong now – _everything_ about him looked wrong. "You've gone mad," 10 said quietly.

"_I'm_ not mad; it's the world – _our_ world – that's mad! I'm _sick_ of watching my people die, and I'm going to put an end to it!"

10 shook his head, warily watching his counterpart. "You're not the Ghett 13 I knew."

"10, you've lost almost as much as I have! Don't you want to _do_ something about it??"

"I _do_, but not _your_ way. Not like you."

"But you _are_ me!"

Ghett 10 drew himself up. "No. I'm _not_. You and I are _clones_, _not_ the same person."

13 smiled dementedly and drew two knives. "But we'll still do this the Ghett way."

Ghett raised an eyebrow, drawing his own two knives. "I never said we were _completely_ different in make-up – but we're different in outlook, where it counts. 13, you do realize that I have to kill you."

"No, you don't. You have a choice."

It was amazing how one thought could sound so thoroughly different coming from two different people. Jereca had spoken of choices with conviction and insight; Ghett 13 spoke of choices only by a small spark of reason through his insanity.

Ghett 10 _did_ have a choice – to obey or betray. But what kind of choice was that, really? To go against everything you believed in?

_That was why Zurg had brought him here._

"They always said that Team 13 would get most of the bad luck," 10 smirked sadly. "Just never thought I'd be the one to finish it."

13 snarled and sprang at 10, and their long knives clashed. The blades whistled through the air with startling speed as the two young men whirled in and out from each other. They kept locking, neither able to gain an advantage over the other.

They were _both_ fighting like Ghett – the _original_ Ghett… and 10 realized this. He dropped his knives and narrowly avoided having his throat cut. 13 jerked back in surprise, his momentary hesitation exactly what 10 needed. Faster than eye could catch, he whipped a smaller dagger out at 13.

The other clone collapsed with a cry, the blade lodged in his chest.

The surviving Ghett gathered his knives and sheathed one, then knelt beside his counterpart.

"_Hi, I'm Ghett 10."_

"_I'm Ghett 13 – nice to meet you…"_

Ghett squeezed his eyes shut and thrust the knife into the other's throat, yanking it sideways.

"_Careful! You'll miss your target!" 10 called._

"_I __**never**__ miss!" 13 grinned back…_

Always make sure your opponent is finished. He drove the knife in again.

"_C'mon, 10, you can be faster!" 13 smirked as they practiced…_

He finally forced himself to open his eyes… and met a pair of eyes that were once exactly like his. But these eyes were now glassy, sightless. Dead.

He choked back a sob.

The next thing he noticed was a purple skirt beside him. Zurg had appeared soundlessly out of nowhere again.

"How do you do that?" Ghett asked, his voice a bit rough.

"Practice." Zurg gazed down at the corpse. "You passed."

Ghett clenched his fists and focused his gaze on something distant, not trusting himself to look at either the body or Zurg. "I hate it."

"Mm. Ghett, you need to be able to kill someone close, or someone unarmed. In war, it's a realistic necessity." Ghett kept his gaze distant, clutching his knife. "Do you want to kill me?"

Ghett bit his lips and shrugged helplessly. He hated Zurg sometimes, most definitely, but somehow… "I don't know," he said slowly. "You're still like…" He shook his head, unable to continue.

"A father, maybe?" Zurg wondered. "You hate me _and_ love me? A dangerous mix, those two." He paused. "Ghett, you are an elite warrior – my avenger. You need to be good – no, you need to be _excellent_ – at what you do; this is a harsh, cruel universe. And believe it or not, once your task is complete, I want you to live. Not just because you're useful, either – don't think I have no affection for you and the others."

Ghett smirked and shook his head. "I can't… I don't think I can stay angry with you for long, no matter how hard I try."

"Good," Zurg laughed. "I am extremely pleased with you and your team, and I _am_ giving you Operation Apocalypse. But not yet – there are some other things that must be tended to first."

Ghett saluted. "Sir, I can afford to wait – just the knowledge is enough."

"Not really," Zurg told him. "We can't afford to wait much longer – we're running out of time."

* * *

As Ghett returned to his team, Zurg returned to his Throne Room. "Darkmatter??" he bellowed. "I need you!!"

Warp hurried into the room. "Yes, my Evil Emperor?"

"I need you to deliver cargo to Tangea. There's a datapad in the crate – it'll tell you where to put the cargo and how to arrange it. You had better do a good job," Zurg hissed. "If you fail me this time, you might as well throw yourself from Tangea's mountains."

"Why Tangea?" Warp asked, confused.

"Because that's where you're depositing the body, so I hope you aren't too squeamish about these things. I have a contact there by the name of Do…" Zurg trailed off and eyed Warp disdainfully. "Oh, never mind who he is – just _go_!"

"Yes, Evil Emperor Zurg," Warp bowed with respect. _What is __**with**__ him lately?_

In the corridor beyond, a brainpod collided into Warp and sneaked a paper into his hand. "Don't open it here!" the pod whispered furtively.

Warp nodded and kept walking – this wasn't the first time he'd received messages this way. It was common among mercenaries that couldn't read lips.

Later, en-route to Tangea, Warp opened the paper. "_He must die, he must be stopped, and you must leave. SC is still out there and they will help! My brother must be avenged! Meet me at sewer No. 3 upon return – this is urgent! For you as well as me_."

"Why do I feel like I'm losing control of the universe?" Warp groaned.

Strangely, he could hear Jereca's sardonic voice asking him, "Since when did you ever _have_ control?"


	6. Ch05: Sifting

==**Chapter Five**==

**==Sifting==**

Lieutenant Dolb Doppler walked down the busy hallway, nodding to several acquaintances but not pausing to talk. He had a self-appointed mission. He ghosted through the hallway into a room where a palace guard lounged.

The Tangean commandoes and the palace guards barely tolerated each other's presence. The Commandoes saw the Guards as fat, overdressed, under-trained, glorified courtiers; while the Guards saw the Commandoes as a bunch of belligerent, unnecessary soldiers who needed to be brought down a notch or three.

Dolb cleared his throat but the Guard pretended not to notice. He hoped fervently that the Guard wasn't an officer, but it was almost impossible to tell with those stupid robes on. "Lieutenant Dolb Doppler of the thirty-first platoon of TSOC," he saluted.

The Guard looked over at him lazily. "I am _Captain _Elerm."

Dolb mentally berated himself for declaring his title – the Guards were a bunch of rank enthusiasts. "With all due respect sir, a captain _must_ return a salute, just as any other officer."

"Of course," Elerm yawned. "Now, did you want something?"

_Your head on a gold plate_. "I haven't been to the palace in some time and I am looking for the records hall."

The Guard instantly became suspicious. "Do you have authorization to see that room? It is off-limit to anyone without a pass from the Office of Records."

"Oh, I am sorry – I did not know that." Dolb smiled mentally; sometimes, this was too easy. "What do I have to do to get such a pass?"

"Well," the captain smiled slowly, "I _could_ authorize you."

Dolb took out a handful of Tangean currency and dropped it into the Guard's hand. Elerm smiled wider and opened up a computer. A minute later, he handed Dolb a forged pass.

The Commando smiled back, all the while thinking that he needed to get rid of that particular Guard. Not that he'd kill him, but he was sure the head of palace security would be interested in finding that they had a counterfeiter. But then again, if he told security, he would have to reveal his share in the operation, and _he_ would get in trouble, too. No, much as he hated it, he would have to leave it alone – for now, anyway.

"Now, don't mention this," Elerm warned him.

Dolb simply patted his gun. "I suggest you don't say anything, either."

The Guard shrugged. "Why would I want anyone to find out about my business?"

"Why, indeed," Dolb echoed, "Still, I like all angles covered, which is why I waited until you were in a room not monitored by security."

Elerm raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You've been following me?"

Dolb simply smiled and left. He hadn't known that the captain would be there, but he loved to bluff. It never failed to reinforce his position in the eyes of others. That was why he was suspected of being involved in different plots and parties, when, in fact, he was completely free of court intrigue.

However, he didn't want anyone to know that: it would make him look bad, and appearances were everything. He paused for a moment to greet a friend from TSOC. "Good day, Jolth."

"Good day, Dolb," Jolth nodded. "Have you heard the rumors about Princess Ivy?"

"Yes. I've heard something to the effect that she is believed to be alive and that Princess Mira had a brief run-in with her, or something like that."

"Oh? I've heard that she was working for Star Command in disguise," Jolth joked.

"You shouldn't believe all you hear," Dolb returned, serious. "You shouldn't believe _anything _you hear."

Jolth nodded and shrugged, and Dolb continued on his way, striding up openly to the records hall. _He who looks like he's hiding will be discovered_. _ The trick is to look like you belong_. He nodded amicably to the two Guards standing there.

"Halt," one Guard ordered. "ID."

Dolb handed his security card to the Guards, who spent an intolerably long amount of time studying it.

"No admittance allowed without a pass," said one Guard.

"This _is_ a pass."

"Sure, a fake pass."

_That captain is history_, Dolb glowered inwardly. _Like one of my history textbooks_. "Oh!" he said, pretending to be shocked. "I am sorry – I will report this to _your_ CO as soon as I have finished. Listen, I have some work that I am doing for General Noom, and I need to see some of the records."

"All right, all right," said the first Guard. "I'll check with the general: if he confirms your mission, we'll let you in."

Dolb frowned ever so slightly. _If they call the general, he won't acknowledge me. So I need to…_ He shrugged, saying, "Please do."

The second Guard nodded, apparently convinced by Dolb's willingness that he was indeed sent by the general. For a moment, Dolb hoped that they would just let him through, but no such luck. The other Guard tried to contact the general – though the line seemed to be busy.

Time for some trickery. Dolb tossed an acorn-sized smoke grenade into a side room. Normally, he wouldn't have done something so ridiculously obvious but he had had just about enough of the Palace Guards, who weren't even paying attention as they tried to contact the general.

_And that shows just how worthless they are_. A tiny _woomf_ was heard, and smoke started pouring from the room. The Guards rushed to the fire to put it out. "I'll call the fire squad!" Dolb called to them. One Guard nodded and charged into the room. Dolb ran down the hall, pressed a fire alarm, ran back to the door, and slid his pass into the slot. To his relief, it was accepted. _Maybe Elerm isn't dead_… After all, now that he had gotten in, he could afford to be lenient.

He went to Section 12 and began his search.

As he looked through the records, he found something rather strange. "A call from the Palace to –" His eyes widened. "Well, well, well – looks like we've got a mole."

He didn't need to say that, but he knew that someone was watching him through the many cameras in the room. He had already bribed the entire monitoring staff, but it never hurt to give them something to think about. On the contrary, it would do them some good – maybe even convince them that he was actually doing work for the general.

Fortunately for him and unfortunate for Tangean morals, almost everyone was bribable. He scanned the star logs and pondered the information. A Freshuatan star yacht landed in the mountains, called the _Five Aces_. "Now what would good old Darkmatter be doing on Tangea?"

This had nothing to do with what he was _really _doing. But if he could discover a plot or something of that nature – well, it would just be an interesting thing to spend his day on.

He accessed the starship log; _Five Aces_ had landed in Cellser Spaceport. "Now what idiot _didn't_ arrest him?" he frowned at the screen. "Our police just aren't what they should be."

_Plots_. Whenever he heard that word, he was reminded of Ivy. She had always loved a good plot; she hadn't cared what it was about, just so long as it had been mildly engaging.

But this one could beat all: Warp Darkmatter had been on Tangea. And Warp worked for Zurg, Enemy Number One on Tangean lists.

He was up to something on Tangea, and that was _very _bad. Dolb remembered his _last _invasion. Mountains pocketed with craters, houses destroyed, bodies lying on the ground. Trees – entire forests! Destroyed! Fields once full of crops became battlegrounds.

And it would be worse the next time, he knew it. It wouldn't just happen on Tangea – it would engulf the galaxy. He saw it in his mind's eye: planets decimated, innocents slain.

"_And it's our fault_." Ivy.

She had told him that she was ashamed of what the Tangeans had done to the Zorog. "Yes, the Zorog were our enemy in the first place," she would say, "but it's _our_ fault that we're enemies for eternity."

_I wish you really __**were**__ here,_ he sighed bitterly. _You were always so good at plots… so good at plots_.

The rumors that she was still alive could just be that: rumors. But he hoped fervently that the stories were true – they needed her. Zurg was coming – Dolb knew it. And it didn't matter whose fault it was – he would do his duty for Tangea.

* * *

"Hurry up!" yelled the foreman. "We can't spend all day on this house – we have ten more to go! Just make sure there are no bodies!" Years had passed since Zurg's invasion of Tangea and salvage operations still continued. Many hidden villages and chateaus were still being searched.

So many people were still missing. Well, they were _called_ MIAs but it was pretty widely believed that they were all KIAs. Some people, though, wanted to _see_ the bodies, wanted confirmation. Sometimes a Tangean Royal was found wandering in the woods far from civilization, usually insane. Those already rare occurrences grew rarer and rarer.

"Sir!" called a worker. "I think you'd better see this!" The foreman ran over and paused in front of a gaping hole. A few rusted hornet parts lay around – several shreds of Tangean uniforms, skeletons… "They put up a good fight, sir," said the worker who had called his attention. "There are six more hornets and as many skeletons beyond the other side of the house."

The foreman nodded: just another case of a desperate defense – nothing he hadn't seen before. "Is this all you wanted me to see?" he asked sternly. He had a tight schedule and hated irrelevant interruptions.

The Tangean worker shook his head, saying, "I wish it was," and held up a dirt-caked ring. Despite the dirt, it glistened in the sun, a large star engraved on its face.

"No," the foreman gasped. "It can't be. Isn't that…"

The worker nodded.

"Get me a comm to the palace," the foreman ordered, "and tell them I need to speak to King Nova. It's about his daughter."

* * *

Mira had been following her father for hours. "So _what_ is this plan of yours?" she asked for the umpteenth time.

"Not now, Mira! Besides, I don't need you charging in and messing it up!"

"Messing it up??" she echoed indignantly. "I'm a _Space Ranger_, not a little kid!"

"And Star Command is such a competent and well-trained organization to be sure," the King retorted sarcastically.

Scowling, Mira stopped and planted her hands on her hips. "And what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

King Nova touched his forehead tiredly. "Not now, Mira – I am not interested in having an argument with you at this time. Remind me and we will continue it later."

"I look forward to it," she said harshly.

"Well, I do not!" he snapped. "You think that I _like_ arguing with you, perhaps?"

An aide ran up before Mira could reply. "Important message, Your Highness!"

King Nova nodded and went to the communications room, while Mira waited outside, determined to continue bothering him about his plan. But when he emerged a few minutes later, he looked upset, instantly evoking concern in his daughter.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

He mopped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. "There is no plan anymore," he whispered.

"What do you mean?" Mira sighed, exasperated. "Father, what is going _on?_"

"That was the foreman of a salvage team," he whispered. "If he's right, he found your sister."

"_What?_" she cried incredulously.

"Only… she's dead."

* * *

The King and Princess marched through the foliage, having landed the ship in a clearing a little way back. Regulations about landing ships in salvage zones were strict. King Nova was a bit reluctant to go in this fashion – he would rather have taken a hoversled or some such device – but Mira had persuaded him otherwise.

"Were almost there," a TSOC assured him. "With all due respect, Your Highness, this is nothing compared to crawling through a mud ditch, and it does get worse than that – _much_ worse."

"I'm sure," King Nova grumbled. "But I haven't had a walk through the woods since I was a child, and I am a bit out of shape." The soldier laughed briefly before he realized who he was laughing at, and decided just to shut up for the rest of the walk.

They stumbled into a clearing and saw the charred ruins of a mansion on a small hill. A salvager approached them. "Welcome, Your Majesty. Everything is untouched and right up there." He pointed to the hill.

King Nova nodded. "Let's get this over with."

They trekked up the hill to the crater where the ring had been found. King Nova approached slowly, wanting to run back down the hill but continuing on. Years of hope, anguish, and loss… blended together in the minute it took to reach the house. He had to remind himself sternly that he was a king and had to act as one, especially in the presence of his subjects. What was one more disappointment? He had been searching for years, so what was the difference?

…He had been _close_. Closer than ever before.

He looked down into the crater and saw the skeleton. "What makes you think this was my daughter?" he asked, in a voice much hoarser than it should have been.

The foreman held out a piece of cloth. King Nova reached down, almost reverently, to take the ring on the cloth. Slowly, he thumbed the dirt off, revealing the ring's beauty. It was pure silver – _Tangean_ silver, not cheap Earth silver. On it was the royal emblem, an eight-pointed star cut out of a large ruby.

"This was my daughter's," he confirmed quietly.

Mira took a close look at the skeleton. "Fine, so that's her ring – I remember it – but that doesn't mean that this is her. She could have left it here."

The foreman nodded. "We thought of that and took the liberty to call in some equipment. Using long-range scanners, we determined that the skeleton is female. We found shreds of _extremely_ costly clothing with the skeleton. Then," he gestured toward the house, "that would explain why those soldiers were so desperate to defend this place. It has no strategic value – well, other than being a hill. But even that wouldn't explain it, because there's a bigger hill right behind us." He pointed obligingly toward the higher mound. "And that hill has cover. Besides all this, the house was empty of furniture or belongings – no one was living here."

"Then what would my daughter have been doing here?" the King asked sharply.

"She could have been scouting with the troops," the foreman offered. "Or maybe this house belonged to a friend. She came here to see if this friend was safe, and they were trapped."

Mira knelt beside the corpse to dig around in the dirt. Her fingers touched something hard, and she closed her eyes. "Oh, sweet mother of Venus," she breathed. She stood slowly and put something in her father's hand. "Ivy's firestone," she whispered. It was a large crystal that glowed as if with on-fire within, hence its name.

King Nova suddenly found it difficult to breathe. "It is," he managed. "She never would have left that." Swallowing, he turned to the foreman. "Sir, I'm sure you know how to deal with these things. See to it that _everything_ is packed, labeled, and sent to the palace." He turned again to trek back to the shuttle, Mira following him.

"You're giving up this easily?" Mira asked, incredulous. "Just a little bit ago, you were sure she was alive – now you're sure she's dead? That skeleton _isn't_ proof, Daddy – how do you explain what happened on Tradeworld? I _felt_ her. There was a mental connection – a _close_ mental connection!"

Shaking his head, he took a slightly shuddering breath and continued on. _Nothing if not persistent,_ he thought almost ruefully.

Mira growled slightly, not understanding why her father was being so _resigned_. She had stopped hoping a long time ago; but her father had reawakened that hope, and now she was determined to keep it alive. She waited until they had reached the shuttle, then said unexpectedly, "But she was supposed to be off-planet."

King Nova looked at her, momentarily confused. "Who, your sister? Ah, yes, she was." He paused. "She wanted action – she told me that repeatedly. Just like you." He smiled sadly at the memory. "Even when she was little, she got involved in court intrigue just to keep busy. She had a deviously quick mind – never met a debate she couldn't win. And she loved plotting and scheming more than any member of the royal family had in generations."

"Yeah," Mira nodded, "didn't she get into a plot to take the throne?"

"She did," he nodded back, "though she didn't know all the details of the plot and told me repeatedly that she didn't know they were trying to supplant me."

"M'kay," she said skeptically. "And how _didn't _she figure that out if she was so good at this?"

He shrugged briefly. "She hinted that she was in the group working _against _them. But she wanted to cause its downfall on her own.

"Finally, I agreed to let her leave the palace on the condition that she wouldn't get into any more intrigues. She would leave for a few months, then come back for a few months. When last I heard, she was working in some mercenary team commanded by someone named Jasyn Ares."

"I never knew that," Mira frowned.

"Oh?" he said innocently. "It must have slipped my mind."

"I'm sure."

He looked at his watch. "We'll be landing in a few minutes."

"But getting back to the subject," Mira continued, "Zurg invaded Tangea during one of her off-planet spurts. I distinctly remember her leaving before the attack, by at least three weeks! She wasn't on-planet!"

"But we don't know that!" the King snapped, irritated that Mira wouldn't drop the subject. "She could have been coming back and gotten shot down."

"But we haven't found her ship," Mira pointed out. "It's been years since the invasion, and the cleanup is almost finished."

He repeatedly made gestures that Mira didn't seem to notice. _Hasn't she figured out by now that we're bugged?_ He sighed and decided just to continue. He knew that the shuttle was probably crawling with microphones – one of the little nuisances that came with his job. But it wasn't as if they were talking about national secrets. After all, who would really care about another princess, alive or dead? Anyway, after all that they had already said, it didn't really matter what anyone else heard.

"I wonder," King Nova mused. "_Could_ she have been off-planet? I suppose she could have left the ring, since it was special. She might have been doing something dangerous and didn't want to lose it, but then she would have left it at the palace. And what about the firestone? She promised me she would _never, NEVER _leave it behind."

Mira shrugged. "I don't have an answer for that, but let's not give up. We need to check into this more." An idea suddenly struck her. "If we found Jasyn Ares, he would probably know!"

King Nova nodded enthusiastically. "An excellent idea, Mira! I am surprised that I hadn't thought of that. I think I'll have that skeleton checked into – we might be able to determine its origins."

* * *

Mira felt tired. She had searched through the "Wanted" lists, called various bounty hunter firms, and even called a few mercenaries! No success. _I wish I knew a mercenary_, she thought grimly.

The door to the center opened and Dolb walked in – though crept might have been more accurate. "There is always Warp Darkmatter," he suggested.

Mira smiled wearily, too tired to notice that Dolb had heard her thoughts. "Hello, Dolb – what are you doing?"

"I am sorry for this intrusion," Dolb frowned. "I have been monitoring this room for outward transmission and I noticed the lights were on." He looked at his watch. "It is 3am, milady."

"I know," Mira nodded sleepily, "but I'm trying to find a mercenary."

"Is the TSOB not good enough for you?" he asked, laughing.

"No, nothing like that," she frowned. "I'm trying to find someone who might have known my sister."

Dolb nodded knowingly. "The palace is rife with rumors about her, and _you_," he said pointedly.

"I don't want to hear them."

"Of course," he nodded again, "and you must get to bed, milady. I'll tidy up the room."

"Oh yeah, thanks," Mira yawned. "I guess I'd better go. Goodnight."

As soon as she left, Dolb went to work. "Jasyn Ares," he murmured. "Where have I heard that name before?" He went to a website called "Villains for Hire," then accessed "Bounty Hunters" and did a search on Jasyn Ares. His picture came up with an "Unavailable" stamp on it.

He found a "Wanted" poster advertising 75,000 uni-bucks for his detention or demise. Star Command had cancelled the warrant a year after the invasion of Tangea.

_Now why would they do that_? Dolb wondered. He went to a Star Command databank and checked the "Detain on Sight" list. From there, he jumped into the Star Command central computer. He typed in the correct code and went to "Cover Operations." From there he did a search on _Jasyn Ares_ and found him. A Star Command cover-identity: user, Buzz Lightyear; adopted before Shiv Katall, dropped after Operation Rabbit.

Dolb shook his head. "She's looking for her own team leader? Sometimes," he said, exasperated, "I wonder just where exactly this galaxy is headed."

He shut down the Star Command site and erased his tracks, then stood. He raised his communicator and said, "Alher, get my ship ready."

* * *

Buzz entered Commander Nebula's office. "Lightyear reporting for duty, sir," he saluted. "And, sir, just in case you didn't realize, it's 5am." Commander Nebula nodded to a figure in a corner of the room and left, muttering something about sleep. To Buzz's surprise, the figure was Dolb Doppler. "How'd you get here?" Buzz asked incredulously.

"A very fast courier," Dolb answered, smirking a bit. "It is good to see you again so soon."

Buzz shook his head. "I mean, uh, aren't you on duty?"

"Oh, that. I suppose that I could get a blowing-up… maybe… not likely, actually. But this is urgent."

A feeling of fear wormed its way into Buzz. "Is there something wrong with Mira?"

"Not at all," Dolb hastened to reassure him. "The princess is perfectly well. I came to ask you if you are, or were, as the case may be, Jasyn Ares."

"Jasyn Ares?" Buzz was still somewhat tired and Dolb's words weren't coming across very easily. "You mean my undercover identity?" he asked at last, suspicion in his voice. "How'd you find out?"

"It's on the…" Dolb stopped himself before he said something incriminating. "How I found it is not important."

"You know how many times I've heard that line?"

"No."

"More than I care to think about," Buzz sighed

"Indeed. But what I want to know is if you ever assembled a mercenary team that included a Tangean named Ivy, or _any _Tangean for that matter."

Buzz shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "I never worked with a team while undercover. Well, there was one time: I worked with another hunter back when I was younger. It was an accident, and we got trapped together. I wasn't using the Ares identity though."

"I see," Dolb murmured, frowning. "Then it is clear that there was another Ares."

"I could've told you that," said Buzz. "He disappeared a little bit before the Battle of Tangea. Him and a few more of the top dogs in that particular line of business."

"And…?" Dolb prompted.

"We don't know where he went," Buzz continued. "He probably died on some remote, dangerous job, or just went undercover and retired. That's why Star Command chose him for a cover identity: people knew who he was, and it was better than having to develop a reputation from scratch."

"That makes sense," Dolb nodded, "but I need to find the original Ares."

Buzz looked inquiringly at him. "Why?" When the Tangean said nothing, Buzz simply shrugged. "All right, I won't bother you about it." _Yet_, he added to himself.

Dolb stood. "If any information on this bounty hunter comes up, would you please contact me?"

"Sure thing."

"Thank you for your time, Captain Lightyear. I must be leaving."

Before Buzz could say anything, Dolb had left. "Okay," Buzz wondered aloud, "what was _that_ all about?"

* * *

"And so in conclusion," said Doctor Althen, "I have determined that this skeleton is in fact Ivy Nova's skeleton. My condolences, Your Highness," she added.

"Hmm," was King Nova's reply as he turned to Doctor Fulter. "And your opinion would be?"

"I concur with Dr. Althen's diagnosis, but with one exception."

"That being?"

Fulter sighed wearily; he had been up all night – or, at least, it seemed that way to him. "From monitoring your brainwaves, I have come to the conclusion that the images you are receiving are from a _living _Tangean, not a memory imprint as my colleague suggests."

Althen was quick to speak up. "Doctor Fulter has acknowledged that this is your daughter. How could you be receiving images and pain from a deceased? Or from a live Tangean that isn't connected to you?"

"Which brings me to my first question," Fulter interjected. "Was there ever anyone close to you or your daughter that could have a strong mental connection?"

King Nova shook his head slowly. "No, no one. Especially on my daughter's part – I made sure of that."

"Then there it is," Fulter said smugly. "It has to be your supposedly deceased daughter!"

"But how can that be her if this is her!" Althen protested.

King Nova turned his attention to Fulter. "Well?"

"Err…" Fulter looked slightly annoyed. "I haven't gotten that far. What we _could_ do is attach a TMT to you, wait for the signal, and send out agents to find her."

"But if it is a memory - which it _is_ – the Tracer will point to anywhere the system decides to move!" Althen said, exasperated.

"But it will only point to one place, and at the worst, it will be a wasted day for some operatives," Fulter pointed out.

"Please leave the intelligence aspect to me," said the King. "Just speak from _your_ expertise."

Fulter acknowledged with a slight bow. "Well, I _suppose_ that the equipment could be wrong," he said reasonably. "Our technology in corpse identification is not always reliable."

"I assure you the equipment we used was _completely _up to Medic-Corps standards," Althen said coldly.

"If you two could please remember this is _not_ a contest to see which of you is the better doctor," King Nova reminded them mildly. He rose from his chair. "If this all for the moment, I must be leaving. I have many things to attend to. Thank you both for informing me of your _opinions_; please inform me if anything new comes up."

As he walked away from the office, he could still hear Fulter and Althen arguing. He found himself wandered aimlessly. Despite what he had told the doctors, being a King wasn't as demanding as it used to be, and time weighed heavily on his hands.

A young officer of the TSOC walked up to him – Dolb. King Nova barely tolerated his presence on a good day, and this had _not _been a good day. Dolb, however, seemed happy to see him. "Good day, Your Majesty! I have some information regarding Jasyn Ares."

"How did you find out?" King Nova asked suspiciously.

"Channel nine," Dolb quipped.

"Indeed. I suppose you get that frequency from a shuttle?"

"There is a _distinct_ possibility," the officer nodded.

"Yes, well, perhaps we could use a small conference room to discuss your information in private," the older Tangean suggested.

Dolb nodded again. "That would suit me perfectly. After you, Your Highness."

King Nova led him to a small, private conference room, keyed in the proper code, and walked in, followed by Dolb. They sat at opposite sides of a table that filled the center of the room.

"Well," King Nova said without preamble.

"Quick to the point as always, sir," Dolb said, a trifle jokingly. Then he became serious. "Jasyn Ares is Buzz Lightyear. I did some checking, and despite his claim that he never gathered a team of hunters, I believe it possible that it was a Star Command plot to eliminate major criminals."

"So you're saying that _Lightyear_ killed my daughter?"

"Possibly… I cannot be sure. It might not have been him, I suppose; though what slight bit of evidence we have points to it."

"If that is so, Lieutenant, you may have… But never mind that – you are missing a new piece," King Nova continued. "The skeleton is my daughter's."

"Then what about your dreams and illnesses?"

"They might have nothing to do with my daughter," the King sighed. "It could just be some illness that has attacked the royal family."

"It could be," Dolb agreed, "if not for one detail."

"Which is?"

"It's your daughter."

"Persistent, aren't you?"

The young officer smiled slightly. "Sir, your daughter is out there. And I don't know about you, but I am not going to rest until I find her – literally." His face became serious, stiff, formal. "Sir, I would like permission to conduct a private search for your daughter."

"And if I refuse?"

"I can't believe that you would," Dolb said slowly. "But if you did, I would be forced to tender my resignation."

King Nova nodded. "I thought as much. Permission granted, Lieutenant. Just find her, and send me the bill."

Dolb rose and bowed. "Thank you, Your Highness. I trust you shall reunite with your daughter before the month is out."

"One can hope," the King said softly.

Dolb left King Nova to ponder these new events. Everything was coming too quickly for him to take in. A month ago his daughter was just another casualty, then she was alive, then dead – and _then_ there was Dolb. King Nova was an astute man: he saw what many people tried to hide. He hadn't seen the connection between Dolb and his daughter, but many things were becoming clear. He hoped that more would in time.

He shook his head to clear it. _What do I do? _

No answer came.

"Find her, of course," he snapped at himself, irritated. "She's _alive_ – I know it."

* * *

Dolb entered _Jasyn Ares_ on his computer. Actually, it wasn't his computer – it was Ivy's computer. No one knew that he had it, and if someone were to find out… Well, it probably wouldn't go down nicely.

The name brought up various sites and articles, and the old "Wanted" poster. He entered Ivy… and found her on a mercenary site. Her page had links to Ares. He accessed her "Journal." Not many people knew it, but he could hack into almost anything.

He prided himself on having very few things he _couldn't _do. The "Journal" loaded.

He accessed Mission 4. He'd tried to get in previously but hadn't had the code. He knew now.

He typed in _Jasyn Ares_, and the document opened. "Interesting," he mused. "Now if she just happened to type his real name down somewhere." This was going to take some time, and somehow he had a feeling that time was something he didn't have much of.

And if he could have seen the tiny surveillance beetle hidden in that room, he would have known that he _personally_ didn't have much time left.

No one did.

* * *

**Glossary of Terms**

**KIA** – Killed In Action

**MIA** – Missing In Action

**TMT** - Tangean Mental Tracer

**TSOB** – Tangean Special Operations Brigade, the organization of which TSOC is a branch

**TSOC** – Tangean Special Operation Commandoes


	7. Ch06: A Soldier's World

**To the reviewer Anonymous Benefactor:**

Well, first off I would like to thank you for the review (I do not mean that sarcastically). I appreciate what you said.

So… you do not think that _any_ of the canon characters were canon? Well, I know that Zurg isn't – as I meant it to be.

Um, logic to the back-story, I am not absolutely sure that I know what you mean. But I am the writer and therefore see the full picture which may not be coming across right to the audience, for which I sincerely apologize. I _imagine_ things in my head, and they seem good. However, I try _writing _them and they do not always turn out so good. Still, I would say that you need to keep reading, providing that you want to of course. If you don't, that's okay; I understand if you don't like it.

I am glad that you liked the story _aside_ from BLoSC anyway.

I agree that the Tangeans do not appear to be warriors, but… it has been hundreds of years since the war. A lot changes, and even now the Tangeans do not have an army, they have a special operations brigade, much like their own personal and more militaristic Star Command. After all, a planet unable to defend itself will be in serious trouble, eventually. I know that there weren't any Tangean soldiers in that episode when Zurg invaded, but that doesn't necessitate that they don't have one.

Anyway, there will be more on Tangean politics, culture, history, etc. in subsequent chapters.

I do have to disagree with you about alien races, there are less than fifteen actually named (I _think_, I may be wrong and if I am _please_ correct me.) Now whether that is enough or not depends upon your own opinion _and_ story. And I did make a mistake; there are many alien species in the series that had no names, so I gave them some and forgot to mention that.

However, I do agree that my pacing is bad, it's a problem that I know that I have. And anyone who reads my fics will need to bear with me until I get better at that. Sorry. I'll try to work on that.

As for Zurg… again, I have to (basically) agree, he wasn't desperate enough (though he can be really evil, remember the uni-mind and black hole?) but now he is, sort-of. And there will be more on that in this chapter and following chapters. I can write him a bit more like he is in the series, but for this fic I did not want him like that.

And these clones are not "children" – they are extremely militaristic teenagers (biological age of course) who take orders extremely seriously and do _not_ go running around being brats (like the cloned team Lightyear). And they are not even handled by Zurg, as a rule, they have trainers who keep control over them; Zurg just supervises on and off. I am going to be explaining why Zurg is the way he is and why the clones are what they are and how they relate as the story goes on, I just need time to work on it. There is more than you haven't seen, so please don't completely censor my work until you have seen a bit more.

So in conclusion I partly agree with you, and I partly do not. I am grateful that you read _and_ reviewed my fic; I hope that in the future it will be more to your liking. And if not I am truly sorry, but I like my story (hence my writing it), so I am probably going to keep posting.

And please, if you don't mind, keep reading; let me know what you think. I know that this isn't your 'normal' BLoSC, but after-all, this is fanfiction. And as far as I know there is no law against writing something outside of canon. In fact, I think that trait generally defines fanfiction

And I also would like to thank _everyone_ for their reviews, whether positive or negative. I really do enjoy – more or less – seeing what everyone else thinks.

* * *

**==Chapter Six==**

**A Soldier's World**

Warp walked warily down the large metal tube, one of Planet Z's many sewage pipes. _It could kill an Andorian space slug_, he thought sourly. Hearing a sudden noise, he threw himself to one side. But the pipe – though large – was not large enough for that, and he banged his head on a metal stabilizer that kept the pipe from caving in under the massive pressure of the upper levels. He swore silently and kept going.

He didn't know where exactly the person had wanted to talk. He knew that Star Command had a price on his head, which really went without saying. Maybe this was a bounty hunter? Or even Star Command itself?

Warp had almost decided to head back to the surface when he heard a sound up ahead. A minute's walk didn't show anything. _Sound carries_, he reflected. He finally decided to simply yell, "Hey!" No answer came back, not for a few seconds anyway, then…

"Warp Darkmatter," said a reasonably cultured voice from behind him.

Warp turned and aimed his arm-cannon. _How did he get behind me without me hearing him?_ he wondered grimly. However, he quickly relaxed: it was only a brainpod with the number 122 on his robotic body.

"Touchy, aren't you," the brainpod said with a smile – if you could describe a brain as _smiling_.

"Yeah," Warp growled. "I generally get jumpy when I'm walkin' down a stinking pipe and someone jumps out from behind me. I can't explain why I feel like this," he said acerbically, "but it's weird."

The brainpod shook his head. "Sarcasm won't help you."

"Sure, so if you don't mind me askin,' what do you want??"

"For you to leave Planet Z," 122 said without any preamble.

"What? You have a job for me or something?" asked Warp, confused.

The brainpod frowned. "No! I want you to leave _permanently_! Go somewhere far away – or better yet, go back to Star Command and tell them what Zurg is up to."

"Whoa," Warp ordered. "Hold on there. First, I don't know you, and all of a sudden you pop up, give me a note, then expect me to go do something stupid? You're nuts! And secondly -."

"A bit farther than that I should say," 122 interjected.

"I have a good thing going here," Warp continued, taking no notice of the interruption. "Third, Star Command will lock me up for eternity; fourth, I don't even know you; and fifth, I'm not too sure what Zurg is up to these days. Nobody is."

"I can tell you all about that," the pod said eagerly. "But you need to leave… well, soon. Not yet, but soon. And the longer you wait, the worse it will get; the harder it will be to leave.

"Zurg isn't crazy anymore – well, not completely, anyway. He's gotten dangerous, more so than ever before. The other day my brother went into Zurg's chambers and -"

"Zurg was in a bad mood and killed him," Warp said flatly. "I told him not to go in, but he wouldn't listen."

The brainpod stared at Warp with a mixture of something the man couldn't fathom.

"And if you ask me," Warp continued since the pod didn't answer that, "Zurg has gotten crazier than ever, which would seem to me to explain why he's so dangerous."

"No, you've got all wrong," the pod countered with a shake of his jar. "Zurg's mind was being affected by something, and that made his mood erratic – evil one moment, ridiculous the next."

"You mean Zurg isn't naturally like that?"

"I have no idea, but getting back to what I was saying… That is why he would act like a nut one moment and the next day condemn a whole planet to a black hole!"

"Yeah, I suppose I could see how that would work," Warp conceded.

"And now that he's beginning to heal," the brainpod pressed, "he has gotten obsessed with destruction, more so than before! He's become more realistic, and that's bad! For us…"

"_Us_ who?" Warp cut in. "And hey, let's get a few things straight -"

"Are you going to give me a bunch of numbers again?" the brainpod interrupted in return.

"Will you stop interrupting me?? Please! _Yes_, I am going to give you numbers and here is number one: I can't stand Star Command – and especially the GA. Here's number two: what do I care how Zurg's feeling? And three, the money is _good_!

"So I think, all in all, there is _no_ reason why I should leave. Who are you anyway? You give me some stupid message, sneak up on me, and instead of having a normal business conversation you come out and start making demands! You're more ridiculous than His Royal Purple-ness." He turned to leave.

"No, wait!" 122 yelled. "I need to tell you what Zurg has planned. That much I have to do – what you do afterwards is your business, I suppose."

"Okay," Warp agreed. "I'm game – for information, that is. Don't get the crazy idea that I'm actually going to do anything about it, though, but for now… I'm listening."

"Weeell," the brainpod said slowly, "I am not completely sure what he's doing… _yet_. _But _he has given this operation the name 'Apocalypse' for a reason. I don't have everything yet. I soon will though, and then I need you to deliver the information to Star Command, before it's too late!"

Warp just shook his head. "Get this into your head, please – I. Am. _Not_. Going. Back. To. The. Alliance. _And_ if Zurg has _finally_ got a _real_ plan, I say more power to him!"

"Yes," the brainpod agreed. "Much more power… _too_ much."

* * *

"Well, 99?" Zurg demanded impatiently as the brainpod checked his calculations and reports.

Brainpod 99 sighed. "Although the virus has lowered its intensity in your _brain_, it still continues to affect your _body_."

Zurg pondered for a moment. "How long?" he said at last.

"Till…"

"We start wearing garlands of flowers and invite the rangers here to water our Rhizomian-style garden!"

"Err, sir?"

"Sometimes I wonder if putting you in jars was the wisest thing to do," Zurg sighed.

The brainpod shrugged. "We survived this way, and it looks rather cool."

Zurg simply glared at him, so 99 decided to drop that line of thought and continue his inspection.

At last, the Brainpod decided to answer the emperor's question. He tried to phrase his reply as carefully as he could; hoping Zurg wouldn't be _terribly_ angry. "I could give you as many as fifty years, and as few as five. I don't know. It couldn't kill you faster than five – of that I am certain. It might be more, but I can't say – it's so strange. The Tangeans made it – as far as I can see – foolproof."

Zurg nodded. "Then nothing is working to drive it out?"

"I have a few more sources I could try, my Evil Emperor, but I doubt they will do much good."

"Well, keep trying anyway," said the emperor. "Perhaps we could find some unorthodox medic or scientist."

"I will look into it."

"Spare no expense," Zurg told him. "I don't care how much it takes – just find something."

The brainpod nodded. "How has your memory been lately, anyway?"

"Fine."

The brainpod nodded. "That's good. And you haven't had an attack in weeks now; they were your least dangerous symptoms… but perhaps the most painful."

The Zorog emperor nodded. "I need to survive; at least until this is all finished."

99 put his arms in the air in a brainpod's version of a shrug. "You will live long enough to see your goal complete."

"That's all that's necessary."

"Hmm." The brainpod didn't dare disagree, but… "Who will come after you, then?"

Zurg contemplated that for a moment. "I don't know," he confessed. "But I will be thinking about it. And if you'll excuse me, I think that some of my illustrious staff are _dying_ for me to sign some paperwork. My, uh, _least_ favorite part of the job."

99 chuckled briefly. "Perhaps you're not so different from Commander Nebula, then."

Zurg stood. "99, do not compare _me _to the enemy – _ever_."

* * *

Z-AAT 10 was flying its starfighters. The Z-Blitz fighters were three-seaters (a pilot and two gunners, one gunner also navigating) in the shape of a semicircle with a long fin running out of the ship's right flank. Heavily armed with plasma and laser cannons _and_ missile launchers, they were ships to be feared in a fighter-to-frigate encounter – although their agility left a little to be desired for fighter-to-fighter combat.

Ghett, Shirkill, and Racker usually manned one ship while Ivy, Fixer, and Jereca took the second and Boomer, Giganticus, and Triss took the last. However, they did alternate on occasion.

The Gargantian clone, Giganticus, had something rather unusual – a belt stolen from Star Command, allowing his molecules to grow or shrink with the press of a button. Normally he preferred his true size; but for starfighter combat, he had to switch to human size. Otherwise, each third fighter would have to have a tiny cockpit that somehow linked to the ships system, and… the technicians flat-out refused to design such a system.

The ships had simulation cannons and missiles so that the clones could fight _live_ targets without doing real damage. It was one of the few exercises in which they used fake weaponry.

Ghett threw his ship into a sharp turn – as sharp as it could go, anyway. He climbed; the flight instructors had always hammered one thing into their heads: _altitude wins the fight_. In space, that rule didn't apply as heavily; but in the atmosphere, altitude was _everything_.

Baron Richthofen – nicknamed the Red Baron, a famous German ace in Earth's first World War – had always said that height was the only – at least, the _surest_ – way to win. Once a ship got under his guns, it was dead, because he always made sure he came from above.

"I'm still trying to figure out which side he was on," Boomer remarked casually.

"Hmm? Who?" Ghett asked, bewildered.

"The Red Baron. I can never keep that ancient history stuff straight."

"Just like a Grounder," Ivy sniffed.

"Like _you_ would know," retorted Jereca.

Then Ghett remembered that their mindjacks were turned on. Many thoughts were open to the entire team. Rather annoying, but it gave them an edge in unity.

Ghett sighted down on Triss's ship. "Get her, Racker – twenty shots max." The other ship veered off. It was difficult to defeat someone who heard your thoughts as they came into being, but it made the combat more interesting.

"I suggest that we turn our mindjacks on full," Triss suggested.

"I concur," said Racker. "We need the practice."

Ghett nodded, then remembered that they couldn't see him. "Affirmative," he agreed. "Set jacks to Point 12."

He pressed a green button on his control board and typed in a code on the screen. Their trainers hadn't wanted them to be able to accidentally hit the button when they weren't ready; but the code was so short that it only took a second to activate it, and they had installed a bypass for combat situations when a split-second was the difference between life and death.

The ship's mindjack sentient-to-ship link activated, and all senses became different.

Ghett no longer saw his cockpit and controls: he was alone in space, save for eight pulses nearby. No description could do justice to what he felt – he was no longer a human. A human brain, yet… somehow, it seemed… _vaster_. His ship no longer was under his control – _he_ was the ship, and he _flew_ as the ship while his companions were the guns.

The ship became alive through them, and there was nothing between him and space. "Every time I do this, I feel so…" Ghett halted, his voice eerie, his brain unable to find the right words to speak. He spoke through his mind, as voices couldn't be heard when the mindjacks were activated. A slight drawback, but easily passed over.

"Language is limited," said a voice that sounded like Triss, though very, very far away… eerie and spectral. Then again, she could easily sound like that without a mindjack.

By now, Ghett had lost Triss's ship, but not for long. He excelled in mindjack combat. He knew every revealed aspect of their jacks, when – in this form – the clones became telepathic. They could sense emotions – and occasionally, even the thoughts – of some other races' minds outside of their team, such as LGMs, Grubs, Tangeans, and several other races.

But it was dangerous to get carried away in trying to see into an opponent's mind. One might never return. The strain – or something else – could very well kill them.

The clones had been trained harshly in all aspects of unconventional warfare: interrogation resistance, spying, and assassination. But perhaps the most dangerous training was that which involved their ships. Several clones _had_ gone too far and had been lost.

Everyone agreed that the technology was erratic and dangerous, but many felt the benefits outweighed the risks.

And Ghett knew how to exploit the benefits. He formed an image in his mind of his own Blitz fighter and sent the image to Triss, who saw it as a foe to her left. She swerved, as planned, into his guns. Racker carefully shielded his thoughts and shot ten plasma rounds into the stern of the second ship.

It wouldn't have been enough to destroy her had it been a _real_ combat, but it was enough to let her know that they had her.

They continued. They'd practice dog-fighting one minute and just fly the next. They needed to learn how to coax every possible maneuver out of their machines – their lives depended on it.

"We had better turn them off," Ghett said at last, wistfully.

Another danger was addiction: the technology couldn't be used long without severe training, and even then, the clones and their instructors were careful not to stay on too long. The instructors were frightened of it –of how unstable it was. Some clones had even gone so far as to say that they wished they could stay in forever. After all of their harsh training it was… it was like being on drugs.

All of them knew that Ghett was calling off way too early; they could stay for fifteen minutes longer without any side-affects. But they all obeyed his orders without question, as they had been trained to do.

The clones now handled their ship the way ordinary pilots did, albeit a bit more skillfully than most. Ghett turned his starfighter to the right… and right into Fixer's fighter. Shirkill and Racker fired but missed.

Fixer turned to pursue Ghett, and Jereca fired, sending her rounds with unerring accuracy right into her leader's cockpit.

"Thanks for killing me," Ghett told them in a deadpan voice.

"Well" Fixer laughed, "if you like -."

Ghett interrupted him by sending an image of a decapitated and quartered Fixer over the mind-wave. Fixer made a sound that only he himself knew the meaning of.

"How do you think of such awful things?" Triss asked.

"Practice," Ghett joked, even as he noticed that Fixer was still on his tail. He gave a small smile and indulged in a brief second of blissful revenge – _very_ brief.

"Get your missiles ready," he informed his gunners.

He threw the ship up, looped over Ivy's ship, dropped behind, and watched as Racker and Shirkill hit the ship with two missiles. He then turned his ship back towards Triss – whom he had never completely destroyed.

Triss threw her fighter into a series of tight rolls, loops, and ridiculous contortions; but she could not shake him. "Who wants her?" Ghett asked his gunners.

Shirkill fired a stream of plasma bolts into the fleeing starfighter. In a few moments Triss's ship was officially destroyed.

"All right, everyone's been killed," Jereca cheerfully declared. "Let's go down."

"Canyon race?" Ivy suggested.

"I guess," Ghett frowned.

"Someone would think that you don't like the canyon."

"I don't!" he bit out. "And the only reason we are doing it is because instructor Sor-vel insisted that we continue."

Ivy decided to say nothing more, guessing that the Ghett had lost someone to the difficult run. Maybe she'd ask Jereca later – _maybe_.

The canyon was a ten mile stretch of closely packed buildings; in some places the streets weren't even large enough for a Z-Blitz fighter to fit through, if flying right-side-up. But that just gave them more practice.

"There's a really nasty wind today," Triss informed her teammates. "I don't think that now is the really the best time for this!"

Fixer shrugged both physically and mentally – and sent his ship racing toward the canyon.

"Are you mad?" Giganticus protested as Triss sent her ship after Fixer's. "The wind could blow us off course into a building."

"So? My dear little friend, where have you been? This is practice for when we really need it, and we _will_. Besides -" the Rhizomian shoved the throttle forward - "this is how _I_ have _fun!_"

"I have fun without crashing!" the Gargantian retorted.

Fixer just laughed and kept flying. He truly felt at home in the air, and besides, he wouldn't die because of a crash on a training exercise. He had survived too many stupid accidents already to worry about dying from one more. The end would come during combat – he knew it.

The ships raced down the narrow street. Two buildings loomed up ahead, and he could turn or go in-between… Choosing the latter alternative, he threw his ship up ninety-degrees and made it with a couple of meters to spare.

Fixer glanced at his radar. Ghett and Triss were close behind: they had apparently maneuvered through the shortcut as well – and soon, the ships were only a few feet apart.

"Eat my -" Fixer's sentence ended in a yelp as he just avoided hitting a tower.

"Fixer…" Ivy began menacingly.

"We're going to kill you if we don't come out of this alive," Jereca finished.

Fixer laughed. "I'd really like to see you two manage that – really, I would."

He revved his engines and flew right through a tangle of cables. The ship sliced right through and came out the other side.

"I wonder who put those there," Ghett mused.

"The police?" Ivy offered.

"Why would police put them there?"

"Because they wanted to see if anyone was flying through the street," Jereca and Fixer said together.

Ghett sighed. "Sometimes, it seems like we're one entity."

"Only sometimes?"

"We need to find a longer canyon," said Fixer. "That was – is – too short."

"Fixer, that change of subject was -"

"We don't have police," Boomer interrupted.

"You have changed the subject _again_, and no," their sergeant agreed, "we don't have police. Instead, we have CCDs."

"Yeah, lucky us."

* * *

Evil Emperor Zurg walked down the factory isles with a retinue of hornets, Grubs, and brainpods. The loud sounds of heavy machinery filled the air, and sparks flew in all directions.

"…And we have 200 Wasp-2 infantry and 20 Wasp-1 air platforms," the brainpod continued. "And if I do say so myself, they are the finest drones we've ever built," he finished smugly.

"Hmm," Zurg mused. "Very good. How much ordnance do the Air Wasps carry again? I just can't seem to keep those numbers straight."

"Well first of all, my Evil Emperor, they are Wasp-2s and Wasp platforms – very different from the Wasp-1 series," said another brainpod.

"Fine, fine, have it your way, as usual. So how much weaponry do the _new_ Wasps carry?"

"The platforms carry 10 long range missiles, 10 medium, 6 short, 4 rockets, and the new ion-stinger," a Grub answered promptly. "And the drones carry plasma cannons and plasma charges."

"Very well-armed if I do say so myself," cut in a designer. "And we made sure the faulty programming wasn't, err, programmed in this time."

The other Grubs and brainpods gulped and shook their heads.

"Well, there you've gone and done it," another pod sighed.

"You mean you didn't tell him??" the designer gasped.

"Done _what_? What does he mean?" Zurg asked.

"Err," the brainpod stammered. "Heh-heh-heh, well, ah, you see -"

"_Out with it!_" Zurg shouted.

The brainpod gestured him to the main control panels. "These panels control the programming."

Zurg nodded.

The brainpod gestured toward a computer. "And this is where the programming is entered into the programming line."

Zurg scowled.

"Oh, what's the use!" the brainpod pouted. "It's impossible to break anything easily to you. Fine – a little after the Battle of Tangea, somehow, something went wrong with the programming. Either we caught a virus, or else someone sabotaged the computers so that they programmed a 'regard for sentient life' into the robots."

"Go on," Zurg said calmly, though he inwardly dreaded what he was about to hear.

"The new robots were programmed to _never _intentionally harm an organic, sentient being. They would shoot low-energy shots at people, designed to dissipate almost harmlessly – though they would leave you tingling.

"That might be a _slight _part of the reason why we could never destroy Lightyear, or any other Rangers. Your newer hornets were defective."

Zurg looked as though he would begin hyperventilating; but with an obvious effort, he managed to stay surprisingly calm. "I take it that you corrected the problem?"

"Yes, my Evil Emperor!" a Grub squeaked.

Zurg stared silently at the assembly lines for a moment, while his minions exchanged nervous looks. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he asked.

"We, ah, thought you would be angry," squeaked another Grub.

In one fluid motion, Zurg reached down and grabbed the Grub, holding him above his head. "I am not 'angry,' my dear Grub – I am ANGRY! Now, the next time there is a problem you _will_ tell me _immediately,_ or else I will do something so absolutely awful that you will be bearing its mark until you depart this universe! Understand??"

The gasping Grub choked back an affirmative, and Zurg dropped him and turned to the others. "And that goes for all of you. Now, how many hornets do we have? After all," he said, somewhat calmer, "we must be prepared for our visitors. They will be here in less than a month, you know."

"Thirteen thousand," a brainpod answered. "The most we've had since Tangea!"

"Excellent!" Zurg indulged in a brief smile. "But let's get past the thirteen as quickly as possible – after being _delayed_ so many times I am getting superstitious.

"Oh, and just make sure you don't spend _too _much on drones. We must have enough to complete the refitting; we need _those _completed more than the hornets."

"We do," his financial advisor (yet another brainpod) assured him. "We still have four billion in the fund."

Zurg raised an eyebrow.

"They haven't taken as much money as your engineers first thought," he explained.

"And the crews?"

"_Almost_ trained up to specifications, my Evil Emperor. They have done well with the simulations, but may I suggest that they use the real thing? The sims are only so good, and some _real _training would not be amiss."

"No!" the emperor snapped. "That is too risky – a spy or even a Star Command scout might see them and then it would be out and quite possibly, _over_. We can't risk that, can we?"

* * *

Ghett was perspiring; it was all he could do to hold off the sergeant-instructor. They were using knives.

Sergeant Donald Sinclair was the knife combat trainer, a large Scotsman with fiery hair and a disposition to match. To Sergeant Sinclair _nothing_ was more important, more worthwhile, than to learn how to properly use a knife – except perhaps the sword, _especially_ the Scottish basket hilt claymore. To the sergeant, itwas _the _weapon, the greatest weapon of all time.

"Move yer feet lad!" Sinclair said in his thick brogue. "Yer not fencing! Yer fightin'!"

"I know that, sir," Ghett retorted calmly.

They locked both blades and stood right against each other. Each strained, trying to push the other off-balance so that he could use his knives. And the tall, brawny Scotsman was stronger that the lean clone.

Ghett stumbled, fell, and as he fell, he lifted his feet with enough force to knock Sinclair off his feet. Ghett followed up his brief advantage. He rolled over and onto the Scotsman and held his knife to his throat

Donald laughed. "Hah! Good lad, very good. I see Shirkill in that move."

The younger man nodded and stood.

Sinclair stood back a moment and looked out the rooms window. It stretched from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. "Every time I look out there I think of Charn," he told the younger human.

"Charn?"

"It's from a book," the Scotsman laughed. "_The Chronicles of Narnia_ – it's over a thousand years old, but still popular. Its writer was a bloke named C. S. Lewis – strange fellow by what I've read. Still, he did maybe know a tiny bit about space."

Ghett wasn't quite sure what he meant, but he decided not to pursue the matter. "Hmm. Why does it remind you of Charn?"

"Charn was a dying world – its sun was red, like this one. It was a land of evil. Whenever I think of this planet, I think of war. This is a soldier's planet, and only a soldier's. There are no civilians – just workers and fighters. I wonder if that will ever change."

"You are right there," came a dual-toned voice from behind.

Sinclair turned without a start and lowered his head respectfully. "You never cease to amaze me with how you move so noiselessly."

"It's an art," Zurg said with a satisfied smile. "But you're right, as I was saying – this is a warrior's world, and _only _a warrior's world. If war is evil, than that alone makes this planet evil – reeked in evil, though not too far from any other planet."

"Yer right there," Sinclair agreed. "War may be evil, but somehow it draws out the best and worst of men. But the best more, so I like to think. And what would people like me do without it? This is a universe of war – much as people don't want to believe it – and that is why some people are just fitted right to it from birth.

Zurg acknowledged this with a slight nod, "Watch your _r_'s Sinclair."

The Scotsman simply snorted.

Zurg glided away, and the clone turned to his instructor. "I wonder what he was doing."

"Search me, lad."

The pair returned to their knife fighting. Ghett ducked under one of Sinclair's sweeping blows and stopped his knifed an inch from the sergeant's stomach.

"Fights with you just don't last long enough, lad," the older man said a bit mournfully.

Ghett shrugged. "You have taught me well."

"Aye, I have, if I-do-say-it-myself. Just a bit more and you'll be as skillful as yer donor, lad."

The clone decided to risk a question. "Who was my donor?"

"I don't know if I should tell you his last name or his cover identity," Sinclair replied. "But he was called by some 'the Dark One'. And he deserved the name, though he was a fair chap to me."

"You knew him?"

"Aye, a little – he taught me a few tricks with a knife. Compared to him, I'm a novice."

"Could you tell me about him? What was he like? Where is he now?"

"Dead," Sinclair said shortly. "Evil Emperor Zurg killed him, I think. But that's getting too far ahead. I don't know the whole story, but in short, Zurg wanted him to gather the best set of mercenaries in the galaxy together so that he could clone 'em, as you well know.

"Your donor looked up his team and brought them here – Zurg, of course, paid them handsomely. They agreed to train their clones, but your host became angry with Zurg after a conversation they had. No one knows what was said, but rumor is that Zurg had injected a dormant poison capsule in their blood streams when he took their DNA samples. Your host died, for sure – I don't know if the rest did."

"I wonder what they said."

"Don't git curious lad," the Scotsman warned him sternly.

Ghett shrugged again. "So what was he like?"

Sinclair sighed. "He was a proud, willful man – fierce in his love and hatred. He could be kind, but more often he was angry and cruel, a little of a braggart, too – in short, nothing like you."

"Do you think we'll end up like him?" Ghett asked, a trifle worried.

"Nah, lad, don't fash yourself. You'll probably never end up like him, so long as you aren't put in the same circumstances and don't make the same choices. You are who you choose to be, so choose to be as you are _now_ and you won't end up like him. It's very simple.

"Although," he continued with a sigh, "you had better be like him in your combat skills, and in the interest of attaining those skills, let's quit talking and get practicing!"

* * *

His name was Buzz Lightyear.

He was the best of the best. Some people called him a hero; others called him a villain. He had been cursed more times than he cared to recall.

And he had a purpose here, as he always did.

He was waiting in the corridors of Zurg's Z-AAT building. Spanning five hundred square acres and at a height of four hundred meters, it was probably one of the most massive _used _buildings on Planet Z. With hangers, barracks, hospitals, and training room after training room, all that space was necessary.

Today, his purpose was to bust Zurg's operation – and Zurg probably knew that he was here, not that that would stop him. He was determined to show Zurg what a waste the Z-AAT/Operation Apocalypse was.

He smiled grimly and checked his gun's charge, not that he intended to use it. He intended to disarm team 10 without killing them. And he hadn't gone soft! He just didn't see the need to kill them.

Maybe Zurg could do something else with them, something that doesn't involve the end of the Galactic Alliance or whatever they were for.

He heard someone walking down the hall softly and prepared to spring. He didn't intend to seriously harm them, just prove his point. But if it turned out that they got some advantage…

A slight curl of smoke wafted by, but he couldn't smell it. This made him instantly suspicious. _That smoke should have set off a fire alarm_. Then a slight sound, like a grenade pin being popped.

It _was_ a grenade! It rolled to his position, and his reflexes sprang into action as he hurled himself out.

Nothing happened.

He cursed his stupidity. Of course, they wouldn't use a real grenade in their own building!

He looked around, but couldn't find or hear whoever had thrown the grenade. _Come to think of it_, he thought grimly, _I should have _seen_ whoever threw that, so who… The smoke! _He turned and abruptly fell as he felt something touch his mind. He didn't have time to fight, quickly fading into unconsciousness.

Ivy gave a feral smile. "Got 'im."

The other teammates, minus Ghett and Triss, ran up.

"Triss?" Boomer growled. "Where are you?"

"Here," said a faint voice to his right. They all strained their eyes and saw an extremely faint outline.

"Triss?" Fixer said a little doubtfully. "That is you, right? And not your ghost?"

"It's me, and I'm here." Her voice sounded watery and indistinct. "Don't forget that Kimsarye can change from solid – if somewhat-translucent figures – into near-invisibility."

"Well, could you make yourself visible? You're straining my eyes."

"Mind if I get my clothes on first?" Triss asked dryly. "We can't make our clothes disappear with us. Not like in those old – and new – movies that the staff tells us stories about. You know, this was kind of embarrassing the first time I did this, but I got used to it fast."

"Well, hurry up, Triss," Jereca told her.

"When the sergeant's away, the corporal comes out to play," Fixer muttered.

"SO! Who is this?" Giganticus said in his fast, small voice.

Ivy shrugged. "I'm not sure. I could have sworn I'd seen him bef-"

"Lightyear!" Racker interrupted, Shirkill nodding in agreement.

"Of course…" Ivy nodded. "But I didn't know that he had a beard."

"He doesn't. That's the _other _Buzz Lightyear!" Jereca laughed. Then she gasped. "Ghett and Zurg are going to kill us!"

"I wonder which will kill us worse?" Fixer joked.

"Shut up!" the others told him.

"Umm," Triss thought rapidly. "I know!"

"What?"

"Never mind," she said, irritated. "That wouldn't work."

Racker picked up Lightyear's gun. "Nice model," he commented, as he ran a critical eye over the plasma gun. "It's a 709 Stucbeck. Why don't they give us models like this?"

"No time for that!" Ivy said excitedly. "I know what we'll do." The others turned toward her, expectant. "I know _exactly _what to do!" she laughed slyly.

* * *

Zurg looked at his desk littered with paperwork and made a face. "An evil emperor shouldn't have to sign papers," he groused.

"But most companies won't accept our requests unless they're properly signed!" a Grub squeaked.

"That doesn't really make me feel any better," Zurg grumbled. "What is this?" he asked, picking up a spy-drone report. "Hmm." He peered at the paper intently for a moment, then gave up in disgust. "Why hasn't this been decoded yet?"

"It has," came the nervous response from a brainpod. "First, we send it to the -"

"Yes, yes, yes, I know!" Zurg interrupted impatiently. "But I _still _don't know what it says!"

"But it's in English, sir."

"Then what are all these swirls and nonsense? It looks like cursive!"

"It is."

"Then how can it be English?"

The brainpod sighed. "They're the same language, sir – just a different way of writing."

Oh yes, of course," Zurg said hastily. "I knew that, 73. But I must have forgotten my glasses: you know what the doctor says about my eyes. So would you please read it?"

The brainpod took the paper. "It says that the spy-drone is watching a Lieutenant Doppler of Tangea. He's searching for a man called Jasyn Ares on the Internet."

"Oh. Ares, Ares…" Zurg didn't realize the significance for a moment, but then… "WHAT??" he exploded. "And the _idiot_ who is searching is Ranger Doppler's brother! Why must everything conspire against me?" He turned wrathfully toward his staff. "Get my dreadnought ready for departure! And send a – no, wait, hold that. I suppose we had better let him live."

"Going soft _again_, Zurg?" a sinister voice said from an alcove.

Zurg turned, his crimson eyes blazing angrily. "Soft is _hardly _the word I would use – but then your language is _so_ primitive. I think _practical _is the word your looking for."

"The word I'm looking for, I can't say," the human hissed, "because these Grubs of yours might be shocked at it!"

"Getting kind of tense, aren't you? Nervous about something, perhaps?" Zurg asked slyly.

"Yeah," Lightyear said slowly. "I get tense when I have this awful headache and no memory of the past hour or two."

"Did a jar drop on your head?"

"Maybe," the other man shrugged, "if movies and books were to be believed… except they're _not_."

"Well, I wish it would have hit you harder," Zurg said, ignoring the evil double's latter remark.

"But I do remember," Lightyear continued, ignoring Zurg in turn, "that I was going to suggest you get some _real_ fighters and stop trying to train little kids to fight."

Zurg raised an eyebrow. "Little kids? They're eighteen, at least – maybe more. I am not quite sure – those biological ages confuse me a little."

"Sure, whatever," Lightyear growled. "But I think this is one of your stupider schemes. Those pathetic copies are no match for Rangers – especially Lightyear."

"I have a feeling they'll do better than _you_ have," the emperor said pointedly.

"Zurg, I'm warning you -"

"That's _Evil Emperor _Zurg to you!" Zurg's eyes began to glow bright red again, but he didn't shoot. "Listen, _Lightyear_: _I_ am in charge, _not_ you – _I _call the shots, _I_ make the moves, and if _you_ don't like it, then you can leave!"

"And let you mess everything up?" the evil Lightyear growled. "Not a chance!"

"Then shut up and do as you're told," Zurg advised him.

"But you haven't told me to do anything yet!"

"Well, that'll change…!" Zurg began to hyperventilate. "Oh, why don't you go back to your universe, anyway??"

"I'm letting them build up a stable and securer galaxy," the man said in a frigid voice. "Then when they think they have repaired everything and can live in peace, when they finally think they will be safe, when they again have hope, I'll appear, and I'll shatter them _and_ their hope, _again_." With that, he turned and marched away.

Zurg frowned at his receding form. "I almost pity the people of that universe," he said out loud. "But if Lightyear tries anything funny, they won't need to worry about him anymore…"

* * *

Ghett approached his team's room as silently as a cat. He knew what a cat was – one of the sergeants had had one. He hadn't seen many animals in real life before. He had seen briefings with them – read manuals about the dangerous ones and the edible ones. He had even fought with simulated beasts in training. But Planet Z seemed devoid of all animal life. Many would think that eerie, but Planet Z's inhabitants were used to it.

He entered the circular chamber ready for action. If you were a Z-AAT, you _never_ went around Planet Z without being one hundred percent ready for an attack. Training continued throughout the day _and _night.

Teams had been attacked in the middle of the night, in training, in briefings, during meals… _everywhere_. You just never knew whether there might be someone lurking around the corner or not. Consequently, the clones had _extremely_ high adrenaline levels whenever they approached a place where an ambush could be set up.

Apparently, nothing _had _happened, as his teammates were sitting on the floor eating.

"You already had dinner," Ghett said shortly.

"We know," Fixer answered. "But it seems that we were hungry. Care for some stew?"

Ghett shook his head. "No thanks."

The clones sat in silence for a minute until a knock was heard on the door. They threw themselves into covering positions – Boomer tiptoeing to the door, opening it, and jumping clear.

Warp strode into the room and looked around him critically. "Not bad," he complimented.

"Thank you, major, sir," Jereca said in a straight voice. Her eyes would have twinkled if she still had them… Ghett missed that.

Warp just shook his head and sat down. "So, Zurg tells me you're going to commence the Operation. How do you feel about that?"

"Honored, lucky, thrilled, and scared," Ivy responded for everyone. "And _I _feel so nervous I could start juggling my poison capsules."

"And that goes double for my grenades," Boomer added.

Warp just made a face.

"Evil Emperor Zurg has briefed me on a few details of the Operation," said Ghett. He wondered why Warp had come to their room but refrained from asking.

"You never told us that," Giganticus frowned, slightly annoyed.

"Need-to-know-information, right?" Warp said, remembering the brief conversation he and Buzz had had about the Unimind. It had always irked him when Buzz had known something that he hadn't.

Ghett nodded slightly. "That's right. May I ask you a question?"

"Sure, why not."

"How do you fight, sir?"

The question confused the mercenary. "How do I fight?" he echoed

The younger human nodded. "How do you fight? Cold or hot?"

Warp understood then. "I guess somewhere between the two. That's the way most people – most people _I_ know, anyway – fight." He thought of Buzz in combat. "Some just do it without even thinking about it. How about you?"

"We fight cold," Shirkill said softly. "That was ground into us a long time ago."

Fixer nodded. "On Rhizome – as you probably already know – there are many plants that can sense the moods and emotions of sentient beings on an amazing level. They're unique to the planet."

Warp nodded.

"Well," the clone continued, "some plants react violently to violent emotions. This curbed wars in general on the planet, and Rhizomians fight with words rather than with guns. So there is one disadvantage to fighting angrily – not that it matters unless you're on Rhizome, but it _is_ an illustration.

"Others disadvantages are loss of focus, duty, skill, and unity. So we are taught to fight colder than the ice wastes of planets that know no life," he ended with a slight flourish.

The clones were silent for a moment; then Jereca shook her head. "Hail the poet."

The clones laughed, but even though it wasn't visible on his face, Ghett knew what Fixer felt – and meant. He always appeared a joker, but inside he was very… sad.

They all were. Memories could not be destroyed. Their training had left its stamp on their lives, and the clones _never_ forgot _anything_.

"So can I ask you a question?" Warp asked Ghett.

The young man nodded his assent.

"Just what sort of training do you get?"

"Assassination is primary, of course," the boy replied. "More specifically: aggressive assassination, which is why we are called Aggressive Assassination Teams – or Troop for individuals."

"Personally, I never understood the 'aggressive' part," Warp interjected.

"It means that instead of putting a bomb _under_ them, we throw a grenade _at_ them," Boomer replied.

Ghett shrugged. "Not the analogy _I_ would use, but… yes, basically. We do _aggressive_ as opposed to _passive_ – meaning that we can rush in and dispose of them hand-to-hand. So _aggressive_ is very different from putting poison in the air vents and bombs in the basement – though we can do that, too, of course.

"But aside from assassination and our own individual skills training, we are trained in space combat – in ship and out. Spying, battlefield training, interrogation resistance, survival skills… everything imaginable really, and a few unimaginable, save by the emperor."

Warp nodded. "Yeah, he can come up with some wacky stuff. So just how bad was the anti-interrogation training?"

"Bad," was all that the young man said, though he inwardly cringed at the memories.

"But necessary," Racker interjected.

"Easy for you to say," Fixer laughed. "All you got was psychological interrogation – we got physical, too."

"Why didn't Racker get the same as you guys?"

Jereca laughed, too. "Sir, have you ever tried to hit a Kergenyen?"

"I guess I see what you mean."

"I had physical, too," Racker bristled. "It was just different – the guy had to skip over fists and went straight to the pole."

"Let's just drop that subject," Shirkill cut in. "We survived."

"And all this is so that we _can_ survive," Ivy added.

"So you guys don't care what happens to yourselves?" Warp asked, frowning.

"No, sir," Ghett answered briskly. "We care about what happens to each other: we're not scared for ourselves – only for our… teams…" He winced mentally, thinking of everyone he had lost.

Warp looked around uneasily and stood. "I guess I'll be leaving."

"Sir," said Jereca. The way that she looked at him with her cybernetic eyes made him feel uncomfortable. "Why do you ask us these questions?"

It took him a few seconds to reply. "I don't really know myself," he finally said, and left.

He _did_ wonder why he had asked so many questions.

_Is it because you're looking for a reason to go to Star Command?_ a voice asked.

_**No**__! _Warp answered fiercely. _I'm __**never**__ going back! I __**hate **__them! Those hypocritical GA morons who… never mind that. What I'm __**not**__ going to do is leave those kids to Zurg's tender mercies, and I'll __**never**__ let the Rangers have them, either. That's a promise… _

* * *

**Quick Terms Key**

CCD – Clone Correction Drone


	8. Ch07: Operations

**==Chapter Seven==**

**Operations**

Hundreds of clones all around her… faces she had seen almost every day of her short life. Many of them she knew personally, and the rest were acquaintances.

Ivy carried her platter over to her sister's tables, where over a hundred of her kind were eating their meal. She smiled, nodded to a few, and sat down, noting that one of her sisters was discussing a new poisoning technique. Ivy raised her hand slightly, and the other girl stopped.

Ivy 10 nodded gratefully. "Every meal, we talk about a new method of killing or healing someone; the Ghetts over there –" she pointed to her left – "discuss tactics; the Boomers – by the way have, you noticed how funny that sounds? just a thought – anyway, they talk about explosives; the Jerecas compare sniping scores… couldn't we talk about something other than normal?"

Ivy 12 looked at her strangely. "Like what? What _else_, um, is there?"

Ivy 10 sighed – some of her sisters seemed to have no imagination. "Must I think of everything?" she said exasperatedly. "I just think there is more to life than saving and taking life."

Ivy 32 shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose, but what is that to us?"

10 examined her food. "What is this?"

"Dish Number 379."

"Hmm, we don't eat so badly sometimes – at least that's what our trainers keep saying. But I just don't know…"

"Number 122 was the worst," one Ivy ventured.

"122 was fine!" Ghett 10 called out from across the room. "It was 1703 that was the worst."

"Then I'll give you mine!" shouted a Fixer.

Some of the clones almost hoped for a second that there would be a food fight – they had once before, but they paid for it.

But if there were any lingering hopes for another fight, Ghett 0, the tactics commander, quickly dashed them. "Food waste is against Order 769, please remember that. Ghett 10, confine your comments to _this_ table."

All the Ivies rolled their eyes.

"That's a Ghett for you."

"But it's not 10's fault that his ear got blasted off," Ivy 10 pointed out. "He hears everything. And even though he denies it, he can hardly help but add his own two cents whenever possible."

"Yeah, _everything_ KP!" the aforementioned Ghett yelled. Ghett 0 had disappeared in the space of twenty seconds, and was thus unable to rebuke Ghett 10 for another shout across the room.

"Blast," Ivy muttered. "Make a man a sergeant and he thinks he can do whatever he wants."

Ivy 57 laughed slightly. "He can."

"That was the obvious answer, but couldn't you come up with something a bit wittier? I mean, if Jereca had been here…"

57 nodded. "She isn't."

"Mistress of the obvious."

"Don't worry, 10: we don't do KP – either the hornets or the Grubs do."

"I know it, same as you, but it disturbs me that one day he'll be able to carry out his threat."

"When will that be?" asked 62.

"Whenever we get into the galaxy proper."

"When will that be?"

"When we're fully trained, of course," 10 replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

"When will that be?"

"Say that one more time, 62, and you're some of Fixer's Saturday toast!" Ivy 10 warned jokingly.

"Okay, here's another topic to discuss," 23 ventured. "How are we all the same and yet different?"

Ivy 10 shrugged. "It stumps me."

"Maybe it's –"

"Team 10 report to Briefing Room 3 – repeat: Team 10 report to Briefing Room 3," a Grub said over the intercom.

"Team 10 this, Team 10 that," one Ivy groused. "You'd think you guys were the _only _team!"

Ivy gave them a superior smile as she rose. "Do not forget, dear sister, that we are the _only_ team with interplanetary combat experience."

"Rub it in, why don't you, Ivy – _rub it in_."

They heard a squeal over the intercom, and a Grub came back on. "Uh, sorry," he said. "Teams 10, 3, and 85 report to Briefing Room 3 – repeat: Teams 10, 3, and 85 report to Briefing Room 3."

Ivies 3 and 85 jumped up, visibly bewildered – Ivy 10 just as confused, but saying nothing. All three teams ran to the room and filed in quietly, taking their seats. Ivy 10 switched her mindjack frequency to channel 10 and asked Ghett what was going on… but he was just as confused. She noted Ghett 0's presence and reasoned that he must have already known about whatever was going on.

The clones faces were blank, their posture perfect – even had there not been duplicates in the same room, it would have been easy to deduce that they were clones.

A trumpet blew, and in walked – or rather, hovered – the Evil Emperor Zurg. His gaze swept all the clones as he stepped up to the mike. "Testing: one, two, three," he said hesitantly. "Is it working fine?" He received a thumbs-up from the control room and smiled at the clones, a bit strangely. But then, _any_ smile coming from their evil overlord was strange.

Folding his arms behind his back, Zurg began to pace. "You are probably all curious as to why you have been summoned here. I will tell you plainly. Operation Apocalypse, Phase 1, begins _tomorrow_ at five-hundred hours." He paused dramatically, doubtless waiting for the clones to murmur and gasp. But if so, he was disappointed.

"However, it was rumored, I believe – and correctly – that Team 10 was getting this mission. And to a degree, they still are. But plans have changed. Hence Phase 1, a phase which I'd considered skipping, has come to the front of our agenda and requires _three_ teams. Now I'll let Ghett 0 tell you what exactly you're doing - I'm not very good with the terms, language, and whatnots of military briefing. Not that I didn't take a class on it, mind you – my grandfather insisted that I take one – but I did about as well in that class as I did in grammar, and we all know how _that_ went."

For a brief second, the Jerecas were tempted to say "we do?", but that would have been stupid – even during one of Zurg's "good" moods.

He glided down the ramp leading to the podium and sat on a throne placed carefully in the exact center of the walkway.

Ghett 0 walked up. "We are calling the phase Operation 'Chimera,'" he announced without any preamble. "This is why: we are going to create the illusion of various factions within the GA trying to tear it down, using _three_ teams – and possibly more, should the need arise.

"This operation will include assassinations, training, and other small scale operations. The idea will be to make the GA think that there are several groups that would like to see their downfall – which is more or less true – but we will be bringing these groups to the forefront of the media and to the point where the government cannot ignore the fact that there is trouble in the camp.

"As a result, if our plans are carefully laid and executed, they will increase Ranger surveillance and police activity, old animosities will revive, fights will break out, people will really become disillusioned with the corrupt regime, the GA will start fragmenting, and from there we springboard into Phase 2. Any questions?

Ghett 85 raised his hand. "You mentioned training. Of what nature will this be?"

"Psy-ops, cell-resistance… everything covered in your Resistance Manuals and courses. We will actually be _creating_ anti-Alliance factions, in the form of guerillas and terrorists – who will look like they belong to an actual organization."

"How much do they get to know about us?" Fixer 10 asked.

"_Absolutely _nothing. We cannot afford a connection to Zurg, to Planet Z – _nothing_. Consequently, you will have to wear something to prevent your forehead symbol from being noticed."

"Will we ever be able to operate without concealing our identity?" Jereca 10 and 3 asked together.

He nodded. "You will. Now unless you have a _relevant _comment or question, I suggest that you be _silent_."

"Yes, sir," they said respectfully, though a bit irritated at Ghett's attitude.

Ghett 10 raised his hand. "So, our assignments are…"

"Your orders have been deposited at your quarters. No dry runs will be possible, though – we need to move quickly." Ghett 0 waited a few moments for any more questions, but there were none, so he dismissed them. The clones silently stood and filed out. Ghett glanced enquiringly at Zurg.

"Stay a moment, Ghett," Zurg told him. "You are sure that all three teams are fit?"

"Yes, sir. 10 has the highest current score, though one of the highest casualty rates. Ghett and Jereca 10 seem to be survivors, as the others are."

"And 3 and 85?"

"3 ranks second, 85 third. I think they are ready – as am I, my emperor."

Zurg raised an eyebrow. "Not too modest are you? Just like your host." Ghett took that as a dismissal and, turning smartly, marched out.

* * *

Zurg returned to his tower and his throne room, where Warp Darkmatter was waiting – and _had_ been waiting for nearly thirty minutes. But Zurg had summoned him early to have him wait longer – it would help show him who was boss. The Evil Emperor swept into the room and sat in his throne, glanced over a few documents presented by a Grub, and when he was sure that Darkmatter was ready to explode, turned to him. "Ah, Darkmatter, glad you came! You're a bit late though, aren't you?" He forged ahead before the annoyed mercenary could speak. "I would like your professional opinion on something."

"Always happy to help, my Evil Emperor," Warp said with forced calmness.

"Good," Zurg beamed, "I knew that you would be. I need a diversion, I need to strike a blow at Star Command, and it needs to look like it has been months in the making, more or less, and it needs to convincingly fail. Any ideas?"

"Well, uh, there's always a death ray."

"Been there, done that, no repeats," Zurg said in a bored voice.

Warp shrugged. "Hey, this isn't my line, okay? I smuggle, I blow up, I track down, and I don't scheme."

Zurg shook his head sadly. "You don't know what your missing Darkmatter. But be that as it may," he said a bit more sternly, "we aren't leaving this room until we have a feasible or at least pathetic plan to destroy Lightyear, Star Command, or something else! So! Let's think." He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.

Warp thought for a moment. "How about –"

"No, Darkmatter," Zurg cut off, not opening his eyes or even moving, "think."

"How about a bomb?" a brainpod said tentatively. "We did test that new stink bomb successfully, my Evil Emperor."

"Stink bomb? It's not a bad idea, but… no, no, that won't do, think."

After roughly half a minute, Zurg raised his head and opened his eyes. "I have it!" he shouted. "We'll use that new stink bomb! Glad I thought of it. We'll blow it up right above the Capitol on Capital Planet, today."

"Brilliant idea, my Evil Emperor," the brainpod said with admiration in his voice.

Warp looked confused. "But you just –"

"Quiet, Darkmatter, and thank you for your help... such as it was," Zurg ended with a sniff, turning to the brainpod. "We can use it today, yes?"

"I'll get the dreadnought ready, Emperor."

"But isn't that a bit childish?" Warp objected. "A _stink_ bomb?"

"Ah, Darkmatter, Darkmatter, that is precisely what they expect of me, isn't it? Besides, it will be amusing. I only hope Lightyear is there when it happens…"

* * *

Buzz pinched his nose. "What is that smell?"

"Somebody's laundry, probably," XR speculated, activating his fan.

"Maybe it's a barbeque," ventured Booster. "With, ah… too much barbeque sauce?"

"No," Buzz grimaced, "it must be the most massive and disgusting stink bomb every used. And if I were a betting man, I'd hedge my bets on Zurg."

"Buzz, why would Zurg use a stink bomb?" XR objected. "It's so _childish_."

"That's probably what he _wants_ us to think," Buzz countered, "to cover a greater scheme… or else he just wants to raise a stink." His communicator went off, and he opened it. "Lightyear here."

"How is it, Lightyear?" said a _too_ familiar voice. "Does it smell nice out there?" The voice laughed.

"What do you want, _Zurg_?" Buzz growled.

"Oh, nothing much – I just wanted to make sure that everything went as planned. I do love _reeking_ vengeance upon you!"

The Ranger deactivated his communicator with a vicious jab before Zurg had a chance to start one of his laughing fits.

"Weeeell," XR drawled, "they're evacuating the capitol until the stench is gone, Madame President fainted… um, and, personally, I say we do the same."

"Faint?" Booster questioned, confused.

"No!" XR cried, waving his arms. "Evacuate! This is going to destroy my circuits! Mira sure is lucky," he muttered. "There she is on Tangea enjoying herself, while _we_ have to deal with a putrid stench that just happens to cover the whole city!"

"So is this all that Zurg was working on?" Booster asked. "A bomb?"

"No, Booster," Buzz shook his head, "it's just a distraction."

"Yeah, and what a distraction!" XR ejaculated.

Buzz sighed. "Come on, Rangers – we have a duty to do."

"Which is…"

"Make sure everyone gets out of here."

* * *

"Here is the latest report," a Grub announced. "They have nearly finished evacuating the capital."

"Excellent, excellent – and Darkmatter is in place?"

"Yes, my Evil Emperor! He says that he is ready when you are."

"Tell him to commence," Zurg said gleefully. "Ah, Lightyear, you aren't really that smart. You never even thought about what would happen when everyone was out, did you?"

* * *

Warp keyed open the door and walked in, twelve hornets filing in behind him. After blasting the guard 'bots, they marched straight to Star Command's Capital Planet office, where Warp hacked into the computer (a bit too easily), copied the hard drive, and left.

The hornets then entered the Senate Hall and plastered large posters of Zurg. After that, they flew off, leaving a larger-than-life statue of Zurg on the podium.

"Darkmatter, have you started with the cat yet?" Zurg asked on the comm.

"No, not yet," Warp replied, wishing that Zurg wouldn't bother him while on a mission.

"Well, hurry up! They could be back any minute!"

Warp closed his communicator with a sigh and literally let the cat out of the bag. "They look like the real thing," he muttered. "Wait till old Buzz gets a load of this." He pressed a button hidden in the cat's fur and it sprang to life, immediately scampering up a tree and moaning pitifully.

"There," Warp nodded, pleased, "this cat will bring Lightyear running." He laughed. "There, Lightyear, there's your cat-up-a-tree."

* * *

Ghett picked up the papers, rapidly scanning them. "Our target is an SC scientist, Spiro Lepton. One daughter. His combat potential is zero, his NBC potential is huge – and he was already involved in one dangerous experiment."

"So he's gotta go," Jereca surmised.

"Yeah, obviously," Ghett said absentmindedly as he studied another paper.

"You'd think that, with all our digital technology, we could get our orders on something besides paper," Triss said distastefully.

"I don't know, maybe it's cheaper." Ghett put the paper down. "Fixer gets the active role – we're the backup."

Fixer punched the air with a fist, and Shirkill growled something unintelligible.

"Something you want to share with the group, _private_?" Ghett asked pointedly.

Shirkill turned to him. "It's just that I am assuming that this is going to be _active_ assassination, right?"

"Correct."

"And what's more, it will be face to face."

Ghett nodded. "And that is more _your_ special department right?"

"Yes, sir."

Jereca scanned the orders. "Fixer will be posing as a Rhizomian –"

"Not too hard, that," Fixer quipped.

Jereca shot him a dirty look before continuing, "Who happens to be the member of the AMPOO."

Fixer, Ivy, Boomer, and Racker burst out laughing.

"Which translates to what?" Fixer asked between laughs. "Soap or something?"

Jereca frowned. "Something… or the Anti-Mechanics, Pro-Organics Organization."

Triss shook her head. "That is _so_ stupid."

Ghett shrugged. "It's not my name. Anyway, Fixer gets to be a member of this… _organization._ That is… unless Shirkill wants it."

"Never mind," she assured him, "Fixer can have the honor."

Fixer stood and bowed theatrically. "Thank you, thank you all so much."

* * *

Buzz swooped up on his jetpack to the mewling cat. "Come on, kitty," he called softly. "Come on, Buzz will have you out of there in a sec."

The cat just stared at him, so Buzz grabbed it. The cat sank its claws into the tree limb, and Buzz pulled in vain. "Talk about a temperamental cat," he grunted, straining.

"Maybe you should just let it be," XR offered.

"But that would be against the Star Command animal codes, Section 23, never leave a cat in a tree." Booster protested.

"Incidentally," XR asked nonchalantly, "just who wrote that rule – Buzz?"

"I'm not the type to point fingers," Booster admitted, "but his name begins with a _B_."

"I thought so."

Buzz gave a final heave, exerting all the strength that he could muster. The cat abruptly let go of the branch, and Buzz went flying into the pavement, still clutching the cat. Grimacing, Booster ran over and helped his captain up.

"Thank you, Booster," said Buzz, mopping the sweat from his forehead. "What a cat!" The cat came up to him and rubbed itself against Buzz's armored legs.

"Sheesh, that cat has nerve," XR commented. The cat hissed at him, eyes glaring balefully at the robot – promptly sending XR zooming behind Booster's legs.

Buzz picked up the delinquent and gritted, "Nice cat."

"That was very naughty of you," Booster admonished it. "Buzz was only trying to help you."

As if ignoring them all, the cat leapt down and walked away.

Team Lightyear headed back to their Star Cruiser – if they had just looked back, they might have noticed a cat following them…

* * *

Sinclair sat down and pulled a bottle out of his bag. "Care for a drink, Zurg? It be a rather fine one, packs quite the whollup."

Zurg waved the proffered drink aside. "No, no, I can't drink alcohol – it just mess me up for days."

"So, would that just be you – or your entire race?"

Zurg was silent.

"Sorry, I forgot about the old custom: nae talking about your race. So, why am I here?"

Zurg leaned forward conspiratorially. "You have heard of my sending out Teams 3, 10, and 85, I presume?"

The man nodded slightly.

"Good. I want your opinion on whether they are up to it."

"You couldnae have asked me _before _you got their hopes up, could you."

"You are too much of an emotional man. Sometimes, I question my wisdom in allowing you to stay, but you do usually come through. Still, I would suggest that you be careful how you address me, Sergeant," Zurg returned, irritated. "Now, your opinion would be…"

"They're ready, I guess," Sinclair said slowly. "They're as ready as they could ever be, I suppose. But…"

"But?"

"Why couldnae you just hire some mercs or something? What could have possibly possessed you to make and use mass clones? They're too… unstable."

Zurg carefully considered this before responding. "I… I had hoped that a pod of highly-trained – practically from birth – and _extremely _obedient and loyal assassins would have something that the Rangers and everyone else do not. You think it was a mistake?"

"I think it was a mistake to make those kids," the other man admitted. "They have such a bad life… you created them to suffer horribly, do your dirty work, and then… What? You throw them on the junk heap?"

Zurg smiled grimly. "They suffer less than _I_ have, Sergeant – _far _less! You, as accustomed to horrors and death as you are, would _flinch_ at what I could tell you." Zurg clenched his fists. "And they did it to me," he hissed. "All of them! Humans, Tangeans, Rhizomians, Bathyosians… all of them! And they'll pay… That is why the clones suffer: they suffer so that a corrupt regime will fall, that their evil will –"

"Zurg, I hate to interrupt a ranting tyrant, but you are, um, the _Evil_ Emperor Zurg, right?"

The Emperor burst out laughing. "You wonder, maybe, why I call myself that. Here is the answer! And it is surprisingly simple:

"I call myself _Evil_; they call themselves _Good_. _But_… is the good government really 'good'? If you tell just one lie, if you allow evil things to be happening around you, if you do anything wrong, anything spiteful… can you really call yourself good? By those standards, everyone is evil."

"Conceded."

"Sometimes you choose to do good, sometimes what most people call 'bad' – but it's really evil, bad is just a word someone invented to ease their conscience. But evil is prevalent, and true good is unattainable, not to mention worthless.

"When did being good ever get anyone anywhere? My race tried being 'good,' and we were nearly wiped out. I cannot ever hope to really explain this to any other race… but I chose to label myself correctly – Evil. While _they_ call themselves good, and are really evil instead."

"Everyone?"

"_Everyone_."

Sinclair rose. "Zurg, I'll buy that we're all bad… or evil. But your deciding that you won't even try to do something good is inexcusable."

"Fine words, coming from a mercenary, a murderer – a _literal_ cut-throat," Zurg rejoined sarcastically.

"Even a mercenary and cut-throat can know that if there really is nothing good, that we are just there to suffer and finally have peace when we die, then there is no reason to be alive," Sinclair countered. "Just what are _you _alive for? Simply to make others suffer for something that their ancestors did? That sounds pretty pathetic." He turned and began to stalk away.

"Sinclair!" Zurg called. "I did not ask to be this way – I didn't want to be put in such a position. I had no choice. And these are hardly innocent descendants. And… I cannot _possibly_ avenge and repair my race by being 'good.' I have no choice."

Sinclair stopped and turned slightly. "Why, Zurg, do you need vengeance? Will it bring your people, your former life, back?"

Zurg stood and clenched his fists again. "No, I do not _need_ vengeance, but without it, I have no other reason to live."

"Then go die!" Sinclair shouted, not looking back.

The door slammed before Zurg could respond. He contemplated killing him… but no, the man was too good. He almost laughed aloud at his subconscious choice of words.

No, he decided, Sinclair would stay. He was human, after all – he couldn't understand. No one could.

* * *

Sinclair strode down iron walkways, through buildings and hallways. He couldn't put his mind to rest: something that Zurg had said nagged at him. _Repair_. That was the word he used.

What did it mean?

He had a feeling that Zurg was up to something bigger than what he let on. Whatever he was after, it wasn't just Lightyear or Star Command or even the Tangeans. So what was it?

For years, he had been on this benighted world, living in darkness, with nothing but a bunch of brains, insects, drones, and a few civilized humans and humanoids… and hundreds of clones.

_Most of the time, Zurg doesn't even remember that we're around_, he reflected. _He summoned us, had us sign a contract, gave us huge buildings in the most abandoned part of the planet, and forgot about us._

That virus was at fault – Sinclair knew that much. It had made the emperor forget a lot of things.

He dropped the empty bottle into a seemingly bottomless abyss. He waited, but he couldn't hear it shatter on the ground below.

"Emperor!" he snorted. "Emperor of what – a dying world, a dead race, and a few slaves?"

He wondered just a little… should he be helping the power-hungry maniac?

But he didn't have a choice: he had signed Zurg's contract, and his honor made him keep it.

If only he had known what Zurg would do…

He headed back towards the barracks. Whatever happened, he needed to make sure that his boys survived.

It was the least "good" he could do.

* * *

It is angry.

It has been trying to break through for days, but the little beings will not listen. They are too busy _worshiping _it.

Which is why it decided to try the others – they are harder to touch but more likely to hear. They are receptive, they can hear, but they are also dull and stupid. Chasing shadows while Zurg-the-Desecrator grows stronger, preparing for the final push.

The thought makes it nearly frantic with rage and horror. It saw the near destruction of its own "world" – soon it will see all worlds crumble.

It pushes against the little beings minds frantically, but they still cannot hear. Some can almost hear, but they will not grab at the connection.

Weary, it gives up and turns its attention to Planet Z. It has several connections there, faint wisps of hope in a world of darkness. But it is careful not to let Zurg-the-Desecrator feel it search… that would be ruin.

It touches a mind, a mind-without-body. He has helped – he _knows_.

But the warrior will not trust him. He does not believe, or else he is nearly lost to the darkness.

As almost all that world is.

But there are many minds that feel alike… what are they?

Almost they seem innocent, their minds feeling surprisingly… clean. But it does not trust them. It knows that they answer to their Emperor.

No, it must put its faith in the young girl chasing shadows. It must make her see! It hurtles its consciousness across star systems and shoves against one mind, the Girl-Chasing-Shadows, the one who helped rescue… Yes! The other one, the Man-Chasing-Zurg-the-Desecrator! He will hear, but will he listen? Perhaps not, but it must try.

It is sure that everything that happened before were mere tests of strength, of will… probably brought on by the madness… The madness that now stalks in its consciousness, placed there by Zurg-the-Desecrator.

The darkness wants to see the Emperor again, wants to return, wants _control_.

But the first "it" does not listen. It holds the darkness in check, for now.

The little beings gasp: they feel pain in their minds, and they feel the pain of the one they revere.

So it holds back – there is no reason to make the little ones suffer. They shall soon enough, if its plan doesn't succeed.

It waits, silent. It waits for the Girl-Chasing-Shadows and the Man-Chasing-Zurg to hear. It can almost feel the connection coming… but it must wait, a little while longer…

* * *

**Terms:**

**NBC:** Nuclear, Biological, Chemical


	9. Ch08: Players

**==Chapter Eight==**

**Players**

Something hammered at her mind, cold and utterly alien. She pulled the shield around her consciousness even tighter, refusing to give the "thing" the victory—whatever that "victory" was.

She struggled—

Abruptly felt a hint of… sorrow? As if whatever it was was concerned for her, as if it wanted to help her. Her mind-shield slipped in surprise, and it hit her.

Thoughts, feelings, words, images… an overwhelming barrage…

She saw worlds on fire, the stars themselves coming to life and dying, warships by the hundreds, a figure fiddling with a computer in a vast complex… She gasped—he looked like Buzz! _No, no,_ she decided, _not Buzz_. Though there was something familiar about him… but the image was gone before she could study it, replaced by Zurg. The Evil Emperor striding down the steps of the Senate Hall, black-and-grey-clad figures surrounding him… and Warp nowhere to be seen. _Then_ she saw him, speaking with a brainpod in a long metal corridor.

Tangea came into view, and she zoomed down through clouds and saw the palace on fire. The palace. Her home.

The dream changed drastically then – she was no longer drifting overhead without control. She was actually _there_. She ran through the smoking ruin, picking her way past bloodied and mangled corpses strewn across the floor. Terror surged through her, pumping her muscles onward towards the throne room…

She skidded to a halt inside the chambers. Her father lay on the dais before his throne. _No! No, no, no…_

Her stomach twisting, she ran up the steps and reached tentatively for her father. He… he didn't look like he was breathing. _No, please, Daddy…_ She gently lifted him into her arms.

His eyes—the blue eyes she had inherited—stared back at her, glassy and empty.

She felt tears well up in her own eyes. "Daddy," she moaned quietly.

"He deserved it," an angry voice said somewhere above her. She looked up to see another Tangean Royal, a woman, before her—with a gun trained on the princess. "As do you," the woman added softly.

"Why?" Mira asked, hopelessly bewildered. "What have we done? Why do you hate me?"

"You created me," the other replied, her face cynical. "But you don't like it, do you? You could do whatever you wanted to everyone else," she sneered, "but no one could hurt your precious home and family. You think you're perfect, the heroes of the galaxy. All you are—" she squeezed the trigger—"is a murderer, the daughter of a murderer, of a race of murderers."

Mira never felt the laser strike her… and realized that she could no longer feel anything at all. She was in outer space once more, seeing a planet. A vaguely familiar planet.

She felt the foreign tug at her mind. _"Come. Come…"_

She shot up in bed, the dream already fading away. "That girl," she murmured aloud. "Who is she? She looked so familiar…"

Recognition jolted her, and she settled back into the bed, shivering.

The girl from Tradeworld.

* * *

Speeders roared across a plain.

Grounders.

Dolb put away his binoculars in disgust. _How shall I get down there with a clan war going on?_ He smirked to himself. _By doing it, of course_. TSOC never failed a job.

He reached for his jetpack's ignition switch, then decided against it. He needed stealth.

He almost felt that he would regret coming here—almost. Jasyn Ares had had a Grounder in his team, and Dolb had discovered his location—it had been surprisingly easy. The Grounder had taken no steps to cover his identity, but then, who in their right mind would walk into Grounder territory with an arrest warrant?

Dolb crept down the wooded slopes of the hill till he was near the base. _I'll have to wait here until they leave_, he thought, irritated. He did not want to get too close and reveal his presence. _Our powers have their drawbacks_.

So he settled in, pulled his binocs back out, and waited. The Grounders had dismounted from their bikes and were busy exchanging head-based energy fire. Some were using plasma guns, others lasers. Some were even using old pre-Galactic War style rocket-guns—after all, they were probably more resistant to the elements than the modern weapons.

One Grounder hefted a grenade, and the explosion drove the rival Grounders back. Dolb shook his head: such childish behavior—so stupid, so wasteful.

The first group was all ready fleeing, and the field was soon clear, except for the bodies dotting the ground. He wondered if he should check for the wounded or not—after all, they were just as likely to shoot him as except his help… but no. He had an obligation as a soldier.

After two or three minutes of walking, he reached the sight and counted… eleven bodies. He heard a moan and ran over to its originator. The Grounder was average height and build, wearing multiple bandoleers over their customary rough clothes.

Dolb leaned over him. "Hello, are you alive?"

No answer.

He checked the Grounder for wounds—the other had been thrown by the grenade and might have a broken neck, so Dolb didn't move him. "Hello?" he repeated.

The Grounder opened his eyes and turned to Dolb, his eyes widening with surprise. "Blue-Blood? What you do here? You skuy guys finelly come take us?"

"I'm looking for Dubum Underb—I needed to talk with him," Dolb explained, carefully enunciating each word. "On the way down, I saw your fight and decided to check for wounded. Here, have some water." Normally, he wouldn't have given anything but a plasma round to a Grounder, but the man was wounded… and Dolb knew that he might need his help.

The Grounder took the bottle gratefully and handed it back after a long drink. Dolb decided to clean it before he drank from it again… "Wha'er dey say, you Blue-Blood ain't so bad," the Grounder said genially.

Dolb smiled a little at that, despite the being's horrible grasp of English. "So, what exactly were you fighting about, anyway?"

"Dromders," the Grounder replied, wincing.

"Dromders…" Dolb repeated in disbelief, clenching his fist. All this slaughter for a few herd animals?

The Grounder nodded. "Da Grobums steal our herds, so we go to take back. Dey ambush us, an' we beat'en."

Dolb shook his head. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_… "Do you feel hurt?"

The other considered this for a moment. "My left leg," he said tentatively. "It broke when hit rock, an' my head a-poundin from hittin' ground."

"Hmm, I see." Dolb weighed his choices carefully. "Where do you live?"

The Grounder pointed west. "'Bout twenty Bomooos dat way."

Dolb had studied Grounder measurements—along with a host of others—and quickly figured it out. "Twenty-seven point eight klicks," he muttered. He looked around to see if any speeder bikes had escaped harm… and, of course, none had.

He turned back to the Grounder. "Do you know where Dubum Underb lives, and is he friendly to your side?"

The Grounder laughed coarsely. "Should be—we related by twelfe cousyn, but you ain't gonna find 'im."

"He's gone?"

"He's ded—him go work wi' dat big boomer Ares years an' years ago. Him not com back, an' Ares not come back."

"So…"

"Ares always tell us when someone die—he never let us wander."

"Wander? Oh, you mean _wonder_."

"Dat what I sad."

"_Said_."

"I sad dat, too!"

"You mean—oh! never mind!" Dolb said in disgust. _Teaching these people is like teaching a baby_. "Does Underb have any family?"

"Neah, dey all ded—buried in dat vale over der," he said with a jerk of his head, "by ole house. It near my village."

Nodding, Dolb pursed his lips. "All right," he said finally, if somewhat reluctantly. "Could I take you there?"

The Grounder looked at him strangely. "You Blue-blood, why you do dat?"

"Because you're a living, wounded, fellow Tangean."

The Grounder smiled slightly. "Okay, me show you, you take me."

"Deal."

Dolb soon had the Grounder hoisted unto his back and set off. He wrinkled his nose in disgust—didn't these savages ever clean themselves? Or lose weight from all their fighting? But he set his teeth, deciding that it was time to use those muscles that he had been strengthening for years.

Another fun day.

* * *

Romac slung the rifle back over his shoulder. "Come on," he called to the troop of footsore Grounders following behind—footsore, tired, and _extremely_ irritated with their hired commander. He couldn't blame them—the only sign they'd seen of the Grobums was a territorial mark on a tree.

As a rule, he didn't get involved in these clan wars—they were so stupid! But when he had heard that his village was being blown up… what else could he do?

One of his elected lieutenants—an intellectual among his kind—jogged up. "Romac," he said.

"Hmm?"

"We haven't seen hide or hair of the blasted Grobums," the lieutenant growled in their rather primitive-sounding language. "Not even any tracks!"

"Your point is?"

"WE'RE TIRED!"

Romac shook his head. Being away from home so often had almost made him forget how incredibly thick-headed his people were, as a rule. He was about to respond when he heard a suspicious sound ahead and threw himself to the ground.

"You tired, too?"

Romac banged his head on the ground. "If you don't shut up…"

The other Grounder backed off, but with a little more caution than Romac would have expected. Frowning, he picked himself up… and came face to face with a Tangean Repeating Plasma Combat Rifle. And behind it, a Tangean Royal with a rather quizzical expression.

"You are Romac," the Royal said factually.

Roamc nodded, his throat dry. He knew that if King Nova ever found out about him and Mira, the king would—to put it lightly—go berserk. Unpleasant thoughts racing through his mind, he looked down the barrel at the grinning Royal. Behind Romac, his "troops" were prepared to back him up… but he'd be dead first.

The Royal's taut form relaxed, and at that point, Romac realized, stunned, that the Royal had another Grounder on his back. "Lieutenant Dolb Doppler, TSOC," the Royal said, lowering his weapon.

Romac motioned for his men to lower their weapons, who obeyed—albeit reluctantly. "As you already know, I'm Romac. You want my card?"

Doppler shook his head. "Sorry, old boy, I already know it. 'I never quit a job until it's finished—never.'"

"Congratulations, you got it right," Romac retorted, rather miffed at Doppler's tone.

The Royal set the Grounder on his back down gently, if a bit quickly. The wounded Grounder looked around him, probably searching for a familiar face. "These are… Underbs?" Doppler said hesitantly.

The Grounder shrugged.

Romac nodded. "We are."

"Ah. And you, sir," the Royal said to the wounded Grounder, "don't know them?"

"It's not uncommon," Romac hastened to assure him. "We're Northern Underbs, he's Southern—and family reunions only happen during fighting time."

Doppler simply gave him a tired, irritated look.

Romac leaned in and whispered, "You think that we're stupid."

The Royal nodded. "You got it in one."

Straightening, the bounty hunter shrugged. "You and me both—I only hope that, some day, my people will get some sense."

Doppler shrugged back. "That's all very nice, but I am taking this Grounder to…" He paused, turning to the wounded man. "What _is_ your name, anyway?"

"Bumblerg."

Doppler traded glances with Romac. And Romac realized something—he actually _liked _this Tangean Royal. Dolb Doppler actually had a sense of humor, which made him to the Royals what Romac was to the Grounders.

"Well, _Bumblerg_, where is the house?"

"House." Bumblerg chuckled slightly. "We there." He cleared his throat and let loose a string of incomprehensible Grounder words. Doppler obviously couldn't follow it, and Romac couldn't do much better, himself.

Abruptly, he heard a loud grinding, and a large hole split the earth nearby.

The other Grounders approached to investigate, but Bumblerg growled something at them, halting the group. "Set up camp," Romac ordered briskly before turning to Doppler. "Care to take a look?"

"After you, of course," Doppler invited, gesturing at the gap.

Romac's eyes narrowed. "That way, if there are any traps, I get it, right?"

Doppler gave a slight nod.

Folding his arms, the bounty hunter looked the commando squarely in the eye. "How 'bout _you_ go first?"

Doppler smiled tightly. "I think you'd prefer it."

Romac lifted his chin, going all out for the tough-guy role. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Doppler said calmly. "You see, I still have my gun in hand."

Romac's eyes narrowed further, but he knew when he was beaten. "Yeah, that would do it," he conceded. Shrugging, he entered the tunnel, Doppler following him…

* * *

King Nova sat down to hear yet another medical examination by Doctors Extraordinaire, Althen and Fulter. He made a mental note to sack one of them when the time came—they bickered like… like… An amusing thought struck the King—like he and his daughter.

Except… well, that wasn't very amusing… no, not at all…

Fulter looked triumphant. "We did it, sire!"

"Did what?" the King asked.

"I must admit," Althen said grudgingly, "you were right all along, Fulter."

"About what?" the King prodded.

"Just what comes of being in the service of life so long," Fulter said imperiously.

"Excuse me—" the King frowned.

"Oh?" said Althen, her eyes blazing. "Like you've been a doctor longer than I?"

"I _have_," Fulter insisted.

"Have not!" she protested.

"Oh? When did _you_ enter the service?" Fulter challenged. "Oh, and how old are you, and how much do you weigh?"

Althen blinked, baffled. "What does _that_ have to do with anything?"

"Well, you never tell anyone," Fulter reasoned, "so I thought I'd throw those out there and see what happens… By the way, do you do your own medical examinations?"

Althen looked totally lost now. "What does that matter?"

"The law, my dear girl. You see—"

"You're both fired," King Nova interjected evenly.

"_What?_" Shocked, both doctors whirled toward the King.

"If you don't tell me why you have dragged me here," the King finished. "And by the way, you have two minutes." He settled smugly back in his chair.

"Err, yes," Fulter stammered. "Well, from our superior forensics and medical examination techniques, we have deduced that the Tangean in question was killed perhaps six years ago at the most—possibly less—and has been kept in stasis."

"Six years!" King Nova said incredulously. "That was before the Invasion!"

"Quite so, sire," said Fulter. "This means that someone killed the Tangean, froze the body, and placed it at the ruins where she was recently found."

"I see," the King said grimly. "So either someone is playing a dangerous game, or…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing.

"Yes, Your Highness?" Althen prompted.

The King shook his head. "Nothing that you need be concerned about at the moment, Doctor—you handle the medical side, and I handle the rest. Have we not had this conversation before?"

Althen looked properly penitent. "Yes, sire."

"I thought so," the King nodded sternly. "Now, was that all that you needed to tell me?"

Fulter checked his notes. "Well," he grimaced, "I had intended to give everything to you in more detail—"

"Hang your details! I'm not a doctor and wouldn't have the faintest idea what you were trying to tell me. Make it short and give it to me in layman terms, if you please."

"Yes, Your Highness," Fulter said stiffly. "Now then, in summary, the size measurements of the remains in question are your daughter's, the skeleton was female, about the right age… and then the ring and the firestone… I would say that someone murdered your daughter and kept her until the right moment."

"The right moment…" King Nova muttered darkly. "What _is_ the right moment? And who did it?"

"That, sire, is precisely the object of my next inquiry," the senior doctor said grimly. "However, this does not explain the mind connections."

"No… no, it doesn't," the King agreed heavily, rising from his chair. "Thank you, Doctors—keep it up and let me know if you come up with anything else." A feeling of cold resolve wormed its way into him. "If you need me, I'll be off-planet. On Tradeworld, so send everything in Royal Encrypt 2.640."

"Tradeworld!" Althen and Fulter sputtered simultaneously.

"Mind your own business!" the King snapped.

"With all due respect, sire," Althen ventured, "your health _is_ our business."

"My health _is_ perfect, thank you—" King Nova raised a hand to forestall any further objections—"and it will _remain_ perfect, thank you."

He spun sharply on his heel and strode out. _Hang all doctors_, he fumed. _If I hear one more order or _implied_ order from them, I'll…_

He took a deep breath and let his anger drain away. After all, who liked an irritated king? The only thing worse was an irritated princess…

He froze in the hallway. "A princess! Oh dear," he murmured aloud. "What shall I do about Mira?"

* * *

Dolb had searched the place in its entirety—repeatedly, through the few passages and rooms. Romac had lost interest about halfway through the first exploration. Considering the complete lack of technological assets, Dolb was not surprised at the bounty hunter.

As Dolb entered the main room, Romac looked up. "So, nothing?"

Dolb nodded wordlessly.

Romac sighed. "I thought that the guy was some sort of IED genius. So where is everything?"

"There must be a hidden room," Dolb surmised.

Romac tilted his head the doorway, toward the other Grounders outside.

"They're asleep," Dolb assured him. "So now I have to do a _real_ search."

"Why are you so interested in this guy, anyway? Did he design the Ultimate Weapon or something?"

Dolb shook his head. "Not as far as I know. He worked for Ares—that's reason enough to find him."

"True," Romac admitted. "There are a lot of things I'd like to know about him… they say he was a pretty creepy guy."

Dolb arched one aristocratic eyebrow. "Oh?"

The bounty hunter nodded. "Yeah… he had his hand in just about every galactic secret at some point or another. He had a real passion for his work and was just crazy about mythical stuff, mind-linking technologies, clones… whatever was weird, he was into it all."

Dolb tilted his chin fractionally. "How do you know? I'd say that you've never met the man."

The Grounder looked sharply at the Royal. "How would you know?"

Dolb smiled slightly. "You haven't been in business long enough."

"You have a dossier on me?" Romac challenged.

The commando paused for a moment, then placed an amiable hand on Romac's shoulder. "My boy, we have dossiers on everybody. As do Capital Planet, Rhizome, and Tradeworld—only the Tradeworld officials forget that they have them. Systematically."

Romac gave a short laugh. "And well I know it."

"You operate on Tradeworld much?"

"Everyone does."

Dolb raised both eyebrows. "But you…"

"The same."

The Royal leaned against the wall, then shifted at the uncomfortable feeling of the jetpack digging into his back. "I've never understood why everyone hides there—it's the first place people look."

Romac shrugged. "You can hide for years… some are never found."

"If they are never found, then how do you know they are on Tradeworld?"

Romac did a sharp double-take, shook his head. "I bet your COs have nightmares about you."

"No doubt," Dolb agreed genially. "Now, shall we begin?" He took note of the fact that Romac still hadn't answered his question about Ares, but that could wait, for now.

* * *

Zurg switched from camera to camera, finding… nothing. "If you called me out of bed," he warned, "just so that you could have your breakfast early, I'll…"

"No, no, no, my Evil Emperor!" one Grub whined. "The computer saw something, but we don't know where—it's an old system!"

"All right," Zurg said, a bit more calmly, "give me a fast cycle." The different camera views cycled across his vidscreens until he finally saw two people.

"Stop!" he shouted. "That's it! Go back and give me audio now, you stupid insects!"

After a few seconds, the Grubs returned to the proper feed, the audio activated. One of the people, a Tangean royal in BDUs, was walking around a room, peering into every crack. "All right," he said, "who cleaned this place out?"

"Me—have a problem with that?" Zurg languidly asked the one-way video.

"I dunno," a Grounder replied. _Ah… Romac_, Zurg thought with a quiet sense of dread. What was going on? He looked down at the Grub who had practically dragged him out here and said, "Who is that? The Royal?"

"Uh, that's Lieutenant Dolb Doppler, Your Evilness—the one we've been watching for a while."

"Interesting," Zurg said slowly. He hadn't expected Doppler to go to such lengths as to visit the Grounders… not that they could help him. Of course, if Doppler knew about Underb, then he doubtless knew about the rest of Ares's ill-fated team…

Which meant…

"You know," Romac mused, "if you really want to find some interesting stuff of Underb's, I could give you the location of his home-away-from-home… for a price that isn't anything more than ludicrous."

Doppler's eyebrows arched with perfect gentility. "A bounty hunter _and_ an information broker?"

Romac shrugged. "Money's money."

"Especially when it's mine," Zurg growled. "That insolent blackguard! I'll show him who…" Then, what Romac had just _said_ caught up with the Evil Emperor. "Did he say a secret base?"

"Um, we don't know anything about a secret base—" the Grub began.

"Of course, you don't! Otherwise it wouldn't be secret, you dimwit!" Zurg paused. "Get Darkmatter for me!" He returned his attention to the screen, where Doppler and Romac were apparently having difficulty settling on the right price. Zurg raised the volume a little.

"A hundred thousand unibucks," Romac insisted.

"I could go to Crumford Lorak and get the information for a twentieth of that!" Doppler argued, leaning back against the wall. "Anyway," he said with a flourish of his pistol, "I could just make you tell."

"Don't be stupid," Romac said, obviously not taking the commando seriously. "These days, almost _nobody_ gets killed in the 'civilized' world—or out on the Fringe, for that matter. You commandoes just don't have it in you. Besides, you have a 'code of honor' or something."

"As do you," Dolb returned pointedly. He looked serious enough to Zurg—Romac apparently had not dealt much with the TSOC.

Romac nodded. "Yeah—like the one that specifies that you never threaten a person doing a business deal with you. You let unibucks and favors talk."

"So stereotypical of this generation's worthless bounty hunters," Dolb sighed eloquently. "You sound just like a Ranger."

"Oh _please_," Romac growled. "Don't even get me started on them. They politely shoot a few rounds that bounce off the enemy's armor, then bring down an avalanche of small rocks on them or something—being careful not to injure them, of course."

Zurg nodded glumly. "That's about the shape of it."

"Quite so," Dolb agreed sympathetically, slipping back into his elegant, courtly conduct from the rough-and-tough warrior he had been a moment ago. On a good day, Zurg could easily spot such maneuvers, and he could see that Dolb knew what he was doing and would soon have Romac paying whatever price the Royal decided.

At that moment, Darkmatter rushed into the room. "Yes, Zurg?"

"Shut up, Darkmatter. …And that's _Evil Emperor_ Zurg," Zurg added as an afterthought.

"You know," Romac continued, heating up, "it's more or less that way everywhere. Some people have assassin 'bots that are pretty good, but drones like Zurg's hornets are worthless."

"Not anymore," Zurg smirked.

"That's not entirely true, Evil Emperor," a brainpod piped up. "You see, now, the newer hornets don't mind killing anyone, but they are still basically dumb and lousy shots."

"They're _robots_, for pity's sakes!" Zurg nearly sobbed. "Can't you just _program_ them to be good shots?"

"Um, no."

"IDIOTS!"

Darkmatter threw up his hands. "Hold it, Zurg—"

"Warp Darkmatter, old comrade, friend, fellow evil entrepreneur, CALL ME EVIL EMPEROR, OR I WILL KILL YOU!" Zurg then threw his face down into his hands.

"Uh, yeah, sure, Evil Emperor. But, uh… like I was going to say, the Triss line is great at hacking and programming. Why don't you have them try to reprogram all the hornets?"

Zurg looked up from his hands. "You know, Darkmatter, that's not a bad idea! In fact, it's terrific! Glad I thought of it." Darkmatter stood behind the throne, but Zurg didn't need to see him to know that he was making faces. Warp was just predictable that way. "Now, getting back to the matter at hand, what have they been saying?"

"The Royal suckered the Grounder into taking five thousand unibucks," another brainpod reported, "and the location is 72837 on Demolition Row, Tradeworld."

"Tradeworld," Zurg muttered. "Darkmatter, why does it seem like _everyone_ is on Tradeworld these days?"

Darkmater shrugged. "'Cause the humans didn't want Capital Planet becoming another Coruscant, I guess."

"No," Zurg glowered. "They _don't_, do they…"

* * *

Ivy shivered. She couldn't get that dream out of her head—the Tangean, the ruined worlds… and that… that thing.

What _was_ it that made her see such things?

Tears fell, unbidden, down her face. She didn't know why she had them, but she wanted them to stop.

Frustrating… so _frustrating_. She stroked her gun, an old habit. Memories of cold nights when the only thing to keep her company was her weapon…

She knew what the dreams were—she knew that they were the possible future. She wondered if that was _exactly_ what would happen. She wondered who the girl and her father was. And the Tangean holding the gun… the voice had sounded like her own, only… evil.

Triss approached her, concern on her face. "What's wrong, Ivy? Your wounds aren't bothering you again, are they?"

Ivy shook her head, not wanting to talk about the dream just yet. It wasn't her first, but this one was different, somehow. If she talked to anyone, it would be Jereca—the human girl seemed to have an insight for these sorts of things. Every once in a while, things like that made Ivy wonder who exactly they were cloned from.

Across the cockpit, Ghett's head shot up from the pilot's console, and, as he turned toward her, she felt a gentle nudge on her mind. She sighed and reluctantly opened up her mind-comm to her sergeant—and _only_ her sergeant.

"_What's wrong Ivy? What was that about cloning?"_

"_You heard me incorrectly,"_ she almost snapped. She could just see the look of disproval on Ghett's face, even though his back was turned once more. _"Sorry, I was just wondering whose clone I was… _am_."_

"_If you really want to know, I could ask Sinclair,"_ Ghett offered. _"He's not as tight-lipped as our other trainers—especially when he's been drinking,"_ he added as an afterthought.

Ivy smiled slightly. _"I'll bet… But… no thanks, I'm probably better off not knowing."_

"_Suit yourself."_

She heard a slight click as Ghett broke the link. A few of the clones looked up briefly, having heard the sound through their own limited mind-link, but they all returned to their tasks without any questions. Most were checking weapons and gear, and Ivy needed to ensure that her poison capsules were secure in her bag. It wouldn't be particularly pleasant for her capsules to break and kill them all—_painfully_.

Ghett held up, with a mixture of surprise and distaste, some odd, organic-looking gear. "_This_," he announced, "is for Fixer. Fixer, meet the _produce_ of your planet."

The Rhizomian made a face and shook his head. "Too weird, and I like metal equipment, anyway."

"Too bad—take it," Ghett rejoined, unceremoniously dumping the equipment in Fixer's arms.

"Take your seats," ordered a flat, electronic voice. "We are landing."

"I hate drones," Racker muttered.

"I heard that," the ship's computer whined.

The ship rocketed through the atmosphere—so much brighter and clearer than Planet Z's—settling into a docking bay in Capital City. Team 10 used their scanners to check for bystanders in the area, finding no one but 'bots within three hundred yards. Wary nonetheless, they emerged in casual civvies that felt vaguely uncomfortable—a bit too loose and not at all like their black-and-dark-grey jumpsuits and combat jackets.

Ghett scanned the area visually. "Triss, Racker, Fixer, and Shirkill will come with me—everyone else stay here. If a policeman or somebody like that comes and starts asking questions, lie very cleverly—or just kill him."

"Sir, yes, sir," the team acknowledged.

Jereca hefted her rifle and headed for a flight of stairs leading to a storage room. "I'm taking spotter post," she told the others. "See ya'll later."

Ghett just shook his head in mock horror at her slang before leading his squad out of the port, where a car waited for them.

Ivy settled into the ship to wait, she and Boomer having more cause to hide than the others. The _last_ people they wanted seen were Tangeans—Royals or Grounders. Watching her teammates drive off, she felt a twinge of uneasiness. _Stop it_, she told herself crossly. _ We're professionals, the best of the best. If we want someone dead, they're dead_.

* * *

Fixer drove the car on a deserted road in a deserted forest in the middle of nowhere-in-particular. And drove rather slowly. After all, he'd never spent much time in the wheel-car simulators.

"Strange," Shirkill mused aloud. "With repulsors, why would people opt for wheels?"

"Wheels are often considered more fun," Fixer replied, somewhat absently. "And believe it or not, they're cheaper and used massively on several planets with humanoids able to use such vehicles—and humans still like them somewhat."

Upon arriving at their destination, only Fixer got out of the car and went up to the house. If "house" was the proper term—"bunker" was more like it. A good old-fashioned bunker sitting in a clearing in the trees.

"_Remember,"_ Ghett's voice said Fixer's thoughts. _"Easy in, easy out, and don't talk forever—he doesn't have any cameras."_

"_No. Instead he has a daughter that we need to keep alive."_

"_Your point is?"_

Giving a mental head-shake, Fixer stepped up to the door and pressed the doorbell. With a _pop_, a vidscreen emerged from the wall, and a blonde young woman—Bonnie, he recalled—appeared on the display. "Hi. And bye—if you're selling something, anyway."

"Door-to-door salesmen must have the hardest job in the galaxy," Fixer quipped. "Nobody wants to buy."

"Yeah, I guess," she said noncommittally. "Well, goodb—"

"Actually," Fixer interjected, "I am a member of the AMPOO, a powerful Rhizomian-based organization. I'm here to see your father, Professor Lepton."

"_Ampoo_?" Bonnie laughed.

"Yeah," Fixer grimaced convincingly, "I get that a lot."

The girl frowned. "Hey, how'd you know Professor Lepton was my dad?"

"Lucky guess," he lied.

"Okay," Bonnie said slowly, "I guess I'll let you in."

The door opened, and Fixer stepped into a large reception room. A few moments later, Bonnie stepped into room and cocked her head inquisitively. "So, you have an appointment?"

Fixer shook his head. "No, this is all very informal."

Bonnie blinked, apparently taken aback. "Oh. Okay… you want to come this way? Daddy isn't exactly busy right now, so I'm sure he'll see you."

"Lead the way, Miss."

As they traveled several hallways and a few stairways, Bonnie maintained an incessant chatter—all about things for which Fixer couldn't care less. …Which meant that he was rather relieved as they finally approached the doctor's office.

"_Ivy, you'd love it here: there're more chemicals than—"_

"Take a seat while I get Daddy," Bonnie told him, unwittingly cutting off his mind-speak.

Fixer nodded his thanks and sat… the chair sank as he sat! _"It's like a bed, Sarge! Their couch is like a really soft bed!"_

"_Well, don't get to comfortable with it,"_ Ghett warned.

Fixer cast a sardonic glance at the ceiling. _"Right. So, one more time just for the record—do I kill the girl or not?"_

A slight pause. _"We need a witness, so I think she'll do."_

"_Copy that, sir."_

Spiro Lepton entered the room just then, a bit old and worn to Fixer's eyes. "Hello," said the man. "I don't believe I know you. You say you're from 'AMPOO'?" Not so much as a small smile—rather humorless, this one.

"Yes, sir," Fixer acknowledged, noting Bonnie's casual stance in the doorway. "I have a message from the people of Rhizome."

Lepton's eyebrows arched. "From the _people_?"

Fixer drew a Rhizomian gun, which felt a bit strange. "In the name of Rhizome and all the free people of this universe, I have been ordered to execute you for crimes against all forms of life."

Father and daughter stared at Fixer as if he was insane—then Lepton's face relaxed, and he laughed. "Hah! You almost had me there—I didn't know Rhizomians could be such kidders."

"We aren't," Fixer said coolly. He pulled the trigger.

Bonnie screamed.

Fixer then pointed the gun at her, ignoring the body on the floor. "I'm sorry, Miss—it was necessary that he die, but you don't have to. And a piece of advice? Stay away from Star Command and the police, or you'll end up like him." He gestured at the corpse before turning and leaving the room, not giving the devastated girl a second glance.

A mistake, because she wasn't completely helpless.

Bonnie charged him, screaming.

And _that_ was a _major_ mistake.

He swung sharply, his foot lashing out for her torso. She made a sick choking sound as the boot connected her abdomen—she crumpled, her head colliding with the floor and knocking her out.

A moment later, half a laugh came over the mind-link. _"Rhizomians aren't kidders, Fixer?"_ said Ivy's voice. _"What a disgraceful lie!"_

"_Yeah,"_ Fixer replied flatly,_ "now I have guilt."_

He paused at the door, tossed a Rhizomian fireweed into the bunker, and let nature take its course.

* * *

Mira was bored.

Nope, check that—"bored" came nowhere close to the way she felt.

She was aimlessly wandering the palace, not knowing what to do, and she was, quite frankly, sick of Tangea. …Especially since someone (probably her father) had come up with some nonsense about her not going outside the palace walls without a bodyguard bordering on a small army… _ Okay, maybe _that's_ a slight exaggeration,_ she thought, _but not much of one_.

The next thing she knew, her father was standing next to her, dressed in rather toned-down Serelaen space-trader clothes. A comlink fitted snuggly in his ear, and his tunic bulged suspiciously in the shape of a plasma blaster.

"Uh, Dad…" she ventured.

"I said I had a plan," King Nova reminded her sternly. "And I mean to carry it through."

Mira blinked, shocked. "M'kay, but, Father, I thought you, uh…"

"Now, now, Mira," he interrupted evenly, "surely you didn't expect me to give up all that easily, did you? We're going to Tradeworld, back to the place where you saw that Tangean."

"But that Tangean wasn't Ivy," Mira protested. "I would've known, and she wouldn't have run from me, even if we never were ideal sisters."

"True," the King agreed. "But the fact remains that there was a female Tangean bounty hunter slash warrior of some sort who was or _is_ on Tradeworld… And considering that I can name the entire group of mercenary Tangean Royals on one hand, this is significant."

"Indeed," a commando behind the King spoke up. "All Royals who wish to do any type of defensive or offensive work off-planet must register and gain permission first. And there are no Tangean Royal females working legally as enforcers, young or otherwise."

"Quite so," King Nova agreed. "So let us be off."

Mira arched her eyebrows, then shrugged. "I'm game, I guess. But I'll need something other than a million-unibuck dress to wear."

"Oh, Mira," her father chided, his lip twitching, "don't be silly. The dress that you're wearing isn't worth a million unibucks… it's only worth a quarter or so."

Suddenly, Mira was very glad that they were leaving.

* * *

The ship tore through the atmosphere, space-bound.

Contemplative, Fixer settled back into his seat. "You know, I can't wait until we get to fight somebody real, like Rangers. Blowing up these small-time scientists and criminals is too easy."

"According to what most of our instructors say, Rangers aren't 'real'—they're pathetic," Jereca pointed out.

"Besides," added Ghett, "we need experience before we move on to the main players."

"You noncoms sure do stick together," said Fixer dejectedly.

Triss looked up from her navigational console. "Ghett, SC Cruiser to starboard."

"Copy," Ghett said quickly. "Okay, Team, look sharp and get to the guns."

"Should we power them up?" Racker asked, obeying.

"No, that puts the guilty label all over us," Ghett reminded him. "Play it cool."

The vidphone beeped, eliciting shared glances of concern from the clones.

"Triss," Ghett murmured.

She glanced at their radar. "He's closing," she said tersely.

"Right," Ghett acknowledged. "Everyone, stay quiet." He flicked on the vidphone. "Good day, officer" he said pleasantly.

The ranger was a bit peculiar-looking—orange skin, four arms. "Freighter _Starburst_, do you realize that you are going two hundred miles-per-hour past the speed limit?"

"Um, well," Ghett stammered, "I didn't know that there was a speed limit right here."

"Well, there is," the alien rejoined, irritated. "I suggest that you retake Driver's Ed. Anyway, let's see some ID—and where is your captain?"

"_I_ am the captain, sir," Ghett replied evenly.

The Ranger raised an eyebrow. "A little young, aren't you?"

Shrugging, Ghett held up his fake ID for the ranger to see. "I guess, but my family needed the money, and I was trained by a competent freighter pilot—so I do all right. Anyway, I'm really sorry about breaking the law—it was _absolutely_ unintentional."

"Well," the alien grumbled, "since this is your first offense, we'll let it pass with a warning—but pay attention from now on!"

"Yes, sir—thank you, sir." Ghett leaned back with a sigh of relief and switched off the now-blank screen. "Note: be nice to the police and they'll be nice to you," he said smugly.

The clones clapped slightly. "Another mission done!" Boomer crowed.

"Yes, a mission," Ghett murmured.

"What?" Jereca was quick to ask.

"We just took another life."

"So?" Shirkill said, clearly confused.

"Sometimes I feel like we're doing something wrong…" Ghett shook himself. "But we have our orders. We don't decide anything—we're just players."

Ivy shook her head, turning to the portside viewport. "There it is," she whispered.

"What?" Ghett asked.

"Star Command," she murmured. "That's our future, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," he murmured back. The clones sat in silence, gazing at the pristine space station.

Their greatest test would be there.

* * *

Romac watched the stars flow past as the ship hit hyperspace. _Here we go_.

He turned to Doppler with a smile. "Well, that wasn't so bad—no custom patrol ships this time." Doppler merely gave the bounty hunter a dry look, and the Grounder remembered whom he was addressing. "…Right. So, _why_ are you looking for Underb? Ares connections aside… well, Ares is dead, anyway."

Doppler threw him a languid glance. "Is he, indeed? We have a saying in TSOC: 'No one is dead until we have their corpse.'"

A chill raced down Romac's spine. "You aren't… you're not actually _looking_ for Ares, are you? 'Cause if you are, you can hitch yourself another ride!"

"He scares you?" Doppler asked mildly.

"He scares everybody!" Romac snapped. "And there is no surer way to die than to go after him. Katall was a kid compared to Ares."

Doppler shrugged. "Arguable, but I suggest that we not waste our time quibbling. You see, I need to find Ares, it's true—if he's alive. And _not_ to kill," he added quickly before Romac could object. "To talk to."

"About what?"

"Romac, you're far too inquisitive," Doppler said, his voice dropping a few degrees. "If I want to tell you, I'll do it in my own time, understood?"

Romac eyed Doppler for a few moments before grinding out, "Yeah, understood." He returned his attention to the navigation console.

If the Royal wanted to play cagey, Romac could outlast him—easily. And he'd find out, too, because now it was a job, and he never quite a job until it was finished.

Never.

* * *

**IED** = Improvised Explosive Device

**BDU** = Battle Dress Uniform

* * *

_Thanks for the new reviews, Historian 1912 and Takara Matsudaira._


	10. Ch09: Operation Discontent

**==Chapter 9==**

**Operation Discontent **

Buzz seated himself rather heavily and slapped the table—very noisily, Zurg thought. "Okay, Zurg, you've got five minutes to convince me."

Zurg's eyes narrowed. "May I remind you that this is _my _planet,_ my _plan, and _my _life's work?" He sighed eloquently: that evil Lightyear was _far _too demanding and so very arrogant…

"So sorry," Buzz said sarcastically. "Now, the clock is ticking."

Zurg wanted to smack him and smack him _good_, but that would be too undignified—not to mention the fact that the Evil Lightyear could probably kill him without breaking a sweat. "All right," he conceded, "you want proof? You'll get it, and I won't bother trying to explain it to your pathetic human mind—I shall let actions speak, instead."

He turned to the young man at his side. "Ghett 0, kindly show Mr. Lightyear that he is not the ultimate physical force in the universe." Zurg knew that the marooned tyrant would hate the "Mr." part, and he was rewarded with a look of mild annoyance on Lightyear's face—a tiny victory, but a victory nonetheless.

"You've _got_ to be kidding!" Buzz said incredulously. "I'll kill him!"

"A true warrior does not need to kill to win," Ghett said quietly.

Buzz's face hardened as he stood. "True," he bit out, "but, as a rule, death leaves you much safer than mercy."

Ghett nodded. "Also true, but we all know already that you have the skill to kill an equal. Can you simply disarm me? That implies greater skill… so much better than crude force."

Buzz snarled and struck out without warning, but Ghett was no longer there. He sidestepped smartly and landed a well-aimed punch in Buzz's solar plexus—not that it hurt him noticeably. Lightyear pulled back and circled Ghett warily, feeling his defenses with small blows and tactical jabs.

Zurg found the contrast between the two interesting. One man: bulky, bearded, cold anger in his face—the other: young, lean, calm, intense concentration in his face.

Buzz abruptly stepped back, grabbed the chair he had been sitting on, and swung it right at Ghett's face. The clone dropped and kicked, knocking Lightyear down. The boy then sprang up and delivered a kick right into the older man's armored torso. But one kick was all he got, because in half a second, Lightyear was up and flinging his arms in rapid punches designed to bewilder his opponent.

Ghett evaded the barrage until it began to slow, then sprang forward furiously and landed blow after blow. Buzz fended off a few blows, but many got through.

When it seemed like Buzz had just about lost, he struck out, right in between Ghett's defenses, connecting solidly with the young man's chest and sending him flying backwards.

Zurg leaned forward, watching intently. Ghett lay dazed on the floor, and Buzz leaned against the wall, panting. "Not bad," the evil double admitted through clenched teeth. "But if I had a gun, you would be dead. Sorry," he grinned as he turned back to Zurg. "I'm still the best."

Ghett drew a sidearm seemingly out of nowhere. "Not quite."

Buzz froze, obviously recognizing the gun Ghett held. "Where in the h—"

"No swearing, _Buzzy Boy_." Zurg was thoroughly enjoying every moment of this. "So you recognize it, do you? An old Type 12 auto-fletchette, I believe… very good at disposing organic waste."

"Call him off," Buzz warned. "Now."

"Or _what_? What can you do? Still…" Zurg motioned to Ghett, and the clone sheathed his weapon. "Are you sufficiently recovered?"

"I am, my evil emperor," the boy replied.

"Excellent. Your stun-baton next, if you please."

Ghett reached for his belt and pulled out an extendable steel baton. Buzz cursed and groped for a chair again.

Zurg held up a hand. "Lightyear, I _said_ no swearing, not in front of the kids. Anyway, never mind, Ghett—thank you for your assistance. Why don't you report to the med-hornet, hmm?"

"Yes, sir." The clone sheathed his baton without hesitation, but Zurg knew that the lad would have liked nothing better than to go another round.

Ghett exited the room quietly, and as soon as the door had shut, Zurg turned back to Lightyear. "Well, Lightyear? And do be honest."

"He's good," Buzz grudgingly admitted, "but not good enough."

"Let us not forget, he nearly beat you—probably the only people who can beat you are the other Lightyear and I—"

Buzz snorted contemptuously.

"—And Ghett could certainly handle the other Lightyear."

"If 'Good Buzz' can beat me, then what makes you think _Ghett_ can beat _him_?"

Zurg laughed. "As if it isn't obvious! Can't you just _see_ Lightyear's pathetic heart bleeding over these clones? And Ghett is hardly alone—except for 0—he has eight companions. And a Star Command team is only four on average—not that that will make a difference. I imagine that things will happen quite differently than even _you_ expect."

"Yeah, I have a pretty vivid imagination, you know."

"I'm sure… Is there anything else you need to talk about, or are you satisfied?"

Buzz glanced around the room warily. "Not quite, Zurg."

"_Evil Emperor_ Zurg, if you please."

"I _don't_ please. Anyway, it's about Darkmatter. Do you trust him?"

Zurg paused. "What makes you ask that?" he said at last.

"I think you know."

"Darkmatter: a good fighter, a skilled pilot, a bit disrespectful, but still one of the best money can buy…" Zurg trailed off. "I will admit that lately—ever since the 'Space Mummy' incident, in fact—he has been somewhat different."

"I think he's going to defect," Buzz said bluntly. "Or maybe try a coup—_something_."

"That is a serious accusation, you know."

"He doesn't like what's going on—I'd bet my galaxy on it. And yours," he added as an afterthought.

Zurg nodded. "Oh, I know he isn't happy, he's too softhearted—though I expect that he would sooner die than admit it. It must be a leftover trait from his Star Command years." He shrugged slightly. "No, he doesn't like my plan… what little he does know. Still, I find that there is a large leap between disagreeing and disobeying."

"I happen to disagree, one leads inevitably to the next, in my _humble _experience." He stood and gave Zurg an arrogant smile. "And I'd bet that your experience has been less full than my own. Anyway, I guess I'll leave you to your work."

"Lightyear, one moment. Did you ever meet Ghett in your universe?"

"Yes, briefly. I killed him. He wasn't one of my fans—quite the opposite."

Zurg stared at the other man in shock for a moment. "You—_killed_ him! You, _Buzz Lightyear_, killed _Ghett_…" He started laughing maniacally. "Oh, that's a _hoot_, Lightyear—I mean, really, you have no idea!"

"What do you mean by that, Zurg?" Buzz asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," Zurg said as he struggled to control his laughter. "I'll keep that little secret."

"Whatever—what do I care?"

"Oh, I expect you would care a great deal, Lightyear—a _great_ deal…"

"Whatever," the younger man repeated, with a wave of his hand. "You know, Zurg: I think now that _I _have a plan of my own, and you _won't_ like it."

Zurg looked up, slightly alarmed. "What is it?"

"None of your business—you just keep messing with your toy soldiers and stay out of my way."

"Likewise Lightyear—I doubt even you would want my 'toy soldiers' on your tail."

"We'll see."

As Buzz strode out the door, Zurg glided over to the broad window and looked out towards the clones' barracks. "If he does anything that messes with my plan, I'll boil him in oil," he muttered. "And as for the other Lightyear," he continued exultantly, "you've defeated criminals, scientists, tyrants, madmen, robots… but there is one thing you can't defeat—a not-so-simple soldier."

* * *

Buzz shot up from his bed in a cold sweat. That dream… had been like nothing he'd ever had before. Moving almost mechanically, he got up and padded down to the kitchen for some coffee. He knew that he wouldn't get back to sleep that night with a dream like that, so there was no sense in trying.

He wondered idly if "Ranger intuition" extended into the dream world… it might mean something, but then again, the point was almost moot. He knew _without_ the aid of some dumb dream that Zurg was cooking up something big, something that didn't involve stink-bombs and statues. The Capital Planet records had been hacked—but, fortunately, that wouldn't do Zurg much good, as it would take him _years_ to crack the various codes.

The coffee soon finished brewing, and he sat at the table with a steaming mug in hand. He grabbed a sheet of paper and began recording the dream, trying to make sense of it.

"Okay," he said aloud. "Zurg in the Capitol with a bunch of thugs, not hornets." He paused to write that down. "No Warp visible… until he's in a tunnel… no," he muttered as he erased that. "…A pipe, with a brainpod. The point?" Buzz growled something incomprehensible—it was too early for this.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Hello," Buzz greeted as he groggily opened the door—the coffee hadn't quite energized him yet.

"I say, old boy, you look rather haggard."

"Oh, Fop—come in," Buzz said as politely as he could manage.

"Thank you," said Fop Doppler, "but I have been instructed by our grand commander to inform you that you are needed at Star Command—there is a bit of an emergency."

"An emergency!" Buzz grabbed his coat and rushed out the door for his car. "What kind?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Captain, but Commander Nebula gave me the _strictest _orders not to say anything about the matter in public."

"I understand." The older man jumped into his car and quickly revved it up. Fop activated his jetpack and followed the quickly-disappearing Lightyear.

Buzz cleared the atmosphere in record time, swiftly docked in Star Command's civilian access bay, and ran for the main briefing hall. Commander Nebula was pacing back and forth just outside it. "Lightyear," he said, obviously relieved.

"Yes, sir?" Buzz panted as he came to a halt and saluted.

"We have a problem, with Spiro Lepton."

"Oh, no," Buzz groaned. "Not that crazy creep again—I thought he had reformed!"

"No, Buzz," the Commander said gravely, "_he's_ not the problem—he's been murdered."

"_What_?" Buzz cried, incredulous. "Murdered! By who?"

"By _whooom_," an LGM corrected as he waddled past.

Buzz frowned. "By whom? And why would anyone _want_ to? I mean, besides the fact that he was a creep. And what about Bonnie? Is she all right?"

"Miss Lepton is fine, barring a few broken ribs. She said that the assassin was a Rhizomian who came from an organization named AMPOO."

"AMPOO," Buzz snorted incredulously. "And since when do Rhizomians murder people? Are you sure that she isn't…"

Nebula shrugged. "We only have her word to go on right now, and we need to start somewhere. Remember Professor Triffid?"

"Ah, yes," Buzz said, pleasant and unpleasant memories resurfacing, "_Triffid_—how could anyone forget him?"

Another LGM walked by, muttering something about organic technology.

The Commander glanced skyward. "Right—I thought you could drop by his place and talk to him. I just hope that this news doesn't go public. If it does, there is no telling _what_ could happen."

"Yes, sir—but before I go, is there any information we have on the reason for the murder, assuming Miss Lepton is correct?"

"The man said that he was doing it for crimes against, as he put it, _all forms of life_."

"Right… You think it was because of his rampage as a crystal-creep?"

"I don't know, Buzz," the older man sighed. "You better go, and _fast_—we need to move quickly."

"Right away, sir."

* * *

Dolb surveyed his host's humble dwellings with a critical eye. "You actually _live_ here?"

"Only occasionally, and the rent is cheap," Romac replied with a slight chuckle, amused at his companion's repugnance.

"I would hope so," said the Royal, disgusted.

"Hey, you're a soldier—you can handle it."

"No, I am a _commando_, not a soldier… where's your brainpod?"

"Fifty-seven? He's probably out shopping, or partying—something. He'll be back."

"Zurg isn't after him anymore?" Dolb frowned in surprise.

"I haven't notice any new bounties."

"Hmm, strange."

Romac strode over to a rather battered fridge and poked his head inside. "Oh, good… sandwiches?"

"What kind?"

"Salami? I don't mind most of the Earth stuff—the interplanetary copy-offs are rarely as good."

"I cannot say that I have ever had it, so I suppose that I should try it."

"That a yes?"

"In a way, yes."

Romac quickly slapped together a few sandwiches and handed Dolb a plate of them. "You know, I never quite understood why you guys call yourselves police, commandos, or air defense rather than simply calling yourselves military," the Grounder said in-between mouthfuls.

"Politics, my friend: some of the higher class don't like it that we have any defense force—they think that that's part of the reason galactic society looks upon us as big-headed and narrow-minded."

"Aren't you?"

Dolb waved a dismissive hand. "Only the aristocrats, and they don't see it of course—they seem to think that everyone in the galaxy should bow before them. We in the TSOB call it the PGW Complex: that being the Pre-Galactic War, you know."

"Oh, cute."

"I don't think that _that_ word best describes it… yet I infer your meaning."

"Suuure. So, what do you think of the sandwiches?"

Dolb considered that a moment. "A little strange, but not too bad I suppose. What does the meat come from?"

Romac wracked his brain for a moment but couldn't remember the animal. "I don't really remember, actually. So, you guys call yourself police to placate the aristocrats… but I still don't get it."

"Hmm?"

"Why wouldn't they want an army if what they want is for everyone to acknowledge them as the top dogs of the galaxy?"

"Because they do not want it through force of arms. They wish rather to achieve their goal through politics."

"A worthy goal," Romac sneered.

Dolb shrugged. "They are frightened: frightened that our having a military could start another war that could cost them everything, frightened that the Rangers will come in, frightened that we'll be embargoed, frightened that the military will someday seize power… They consider armed forces too much of a wild-card."

"But other planets have armies still, like Earth and Bathyos. And, come to think of it, Earth still has _multiple_ armies, doesn't it?"

"Indeed, but none of them have _Tangean_ armies," Dolb countered. "Royal politics are very complex, and I can't tell you _everything_, your being a Grounder and all that. Sorry, but we have to keep _some _secrets. As it is, everything I told you _isn't _national secrets; you could easily have figured it out by yourself." He sighed. "There are few secrets these days."

Romac shrugged. "Don't sweat it. But the aristocratic 'Peaceful Tangea' won't work as long as there are Grounders bent on war."

"True, that is one of the reasons we can keep an army. You Grounders—and I ask your pardon if this offends you—but you Grounders are too belligerent. It will get you all in huge trouble some day."

"Yeah? Maybe things would be better if you Royals took your money-grubbin' hands off our exports!" Romac ground out, slightly irritated now. "You know how much we pay on your stupid taxes because we can't bring in freighters for ourselves?"

"You only make things worse by continuing your petty wars," Dolb countered calmly. "I have little doubt that some of the council would be more than willing to stay out of your affairs if you could actually handle them, but you don't."

"Some councilors?" the Groudner snorted. "Just how many of them _aren't_ money-grubbing?"

"Not many," the lieutenant conceded. "Still, you'd have a better shot, and who knows, maybe we could even unify the planet under a half-and-half government."

"Impossible," Romac said flatly. "Your leaders would have nothing to do with us, and my people would have nothing to do with yours—we're too different."

Dolb shrugged. "Quite likely, but one can fantasize."

Romac nodded. "But getting back to the army: what you say your leaders believe, it still doesn't make any sense—like when Zurg invaded Tangea and took over the palace personally. They sure could have used you then."

Dolb nodded absently. "They told us not to attack. We were ready though, _I_ was ready… we could have taken that palace in ten minutes flat, but they still said no."

"Why?"

"Oh, they made excuses, but I know why they really wouldn't let us."

"Why?"

Dolb merely leaned back in a sofa and closed his eyes, not saying a word. _The reason_… _the reason is that they were scared_. _They were not so dumb… they knew what would have happened_. _What still could_.

* * *

"And this is the exact spot?" King Nova asked.

"Yeah," Mira said absently. "This is it."

"Well? Do you—"

She held up her hand for silence as she tried to concentrate. After a minute, she gave up. "I can't feel her—I can't feel any Tangean presence, except…"

"_Except_," he repeated doubtfully.

"I almost thought I caught something: brief, a quick flash from the south."

King Nova shrugged. "Well, we'll head south, then—we have all day before us. I've wanted to visit Tradeworld for some time now anyway."

The King and Princess of Tangea were dressed in the clothing of middle-class traders—it wouldn't do to let the world know that the Tangean Royal Family was on the planet. Ten Tangean Commandoes—also modestly dressed—followed them quietly.

"Of course," Mira muttered, "don't you think that two merchants trailing a guard of ten men look rather… suspicious?"

"Well, they don't look like guards, you know."

"Maybe not to _you_, but every person with a shady past and suspicious nature will instantly recognize a soldier when he sees them."

"With all due respect, Princess Nova, we are not soldiers," the commando lieutenant said stiffly.

"What _is_ it with everyone fighting about whether to call you guys soldiers or police anyway?" Mira asked, "I mean, proper name aside, does it really matter?"

"Mira," King Nova sighed, "you really should pay more attention to Tangean politics. Some believe that in this day and age we don't need an 'army,' and others believe that the TSOB is incompetent."

"Due to the Zurg-incident," Mira murmured.

"Yes," the King conceded.

"The truth is," the lieutenant added, "that we _were_ ready to storm the palace, but General Noom bowed to the wishes of the Tangean Council. They wouldn't let us in, you know. It's too bad that you didn't override them—we could have done it," he insisted.

"I believe you, Lieutenant," said the King. "However, I am under pressure from the Council and the Galactic Alliance Senate to disband the organization, as I am sure you are aware."

"Are you going to?" Mira asked.

King Nova shrugged. "Not if I can help it—the galaxy is not a safe place, whatever your Rangers may be capable of."

"I'll concede that," Mira said softly.

"And with Zurg's attempts over the last few years to conquer or destroy us…"

They rented two cars and began the drive south. Mira paid scant attention to anything around her, reaching out, instead, with her mind—trying to find some thread of Tangean presence. She caught something for a moment and her spirits soared, but they dropped just as quickly—it was a male Tangean, and he seemed vaguely familiar.

"How far south, Mira?"

"I don't think it's anyone much now—it felt like a male."

"We'll try, anyway. How far would you say he is?"

"I don't know—I've never tried to measure distance before."

"If the touch was weak, we should assume that the possible Tangean is at least fifty-miles away," the lieutenant interjected.

"Well then, let's have a little more speed, Lieutenant, and get higher into the air."

"Yes, sir. Deins, you heard him."

They soared into the skylanes, joining the thousands of ships flying in every direction. Every now and then, they could see a police car, and once Mira even saw a Star Command cruiser. She idly wondered if she knew the crew.

"The police are kind of scarce," the lieutenant commented almost… nervously?

"Law enforcement is difficult to say the least," said Mira. "That doesn't frighten you, does it?"

Her father shot her a look that could melt planets, and the lieutenant's back stiffened. "No, milady," he said calmly. "Merely curious. Ah well, if nothing else, Tradeworld would make incredible target practice."

Mira and King Nova stared at him in shock.

"Nothing," the officer grimaced. "Just army humor."

"May I remind you sir that you said that you are _not_ an army?" King Nova said pointedly. "Try to stick with one view or the other, not _both_!"

"Yes, sir; sorry, sir; habit, sir; anyway, sir—with all due respect, sir—the Tangean Council feels differently, sir—as do some of your appointed commanders, sir—as we all ready discussed, sir."

"Well the way _I _feel is what counts, _Lieutenant_—kindly remember that, if you will."

"Sir."

Mira frowned. _What was that all about_? She didn't buy that it was just something about armed forces—there was probably something else going on behind the scenes. But then, she hadn't really kept up to date on Tangean politics—or her small sub-military forces—and she was beginning to see that as a mistake. She was getting the feeling that in trying to concentrate on the whole galaxy, she was missing something important: her own home.

At last, Mira felt the connection become stronger, and this one felt female. "Here!" she said quickly. "We should come down here!"

As the car descended, the occupants became aware of a large mass of people crowding the streets, carrying signs.

"Sire," the driver said worriedly, "what's that?"

The lieutenant frowned. "It looks like a demonstration. Princess Nova, would you happen to know anything about this?"

"No—as far as I know Tradeworld citizens don't ever riot or anything."

"Does Tradeworld even _have_ any legal citizens?"

"Billions," Mira said absently as she studied the crowd. Some looked angry, others determined. Suddenly she noticed one of the placards, which said "Rangers + GA = Stupidity," and then she began to notice more signs with similar wording. "Take us down, driver," she said angrily.

The pilot looked to King Nova for confirmation and—receiving it—settled the ship in an empty lot alongside the march. Mira suddenly felt extremely nervous, but she forced herself to get out of the car and walk towards the… protestors, whatever they were. She did feel somewhat better, though, when flanked by her father and a squad of Tangean military personnel.

The leaders of the crowd became aware of the Tangeans advancing and they halted, the crowd coming to an abrupt halt. Voices swelled in confusion.

At first, Mira was confused at their reception, of their even taking notice of them. Then she realized that while she might feel safer with guards, they were _extremely_ conspicuous. "Lieutenant, do you _have_ to flank us like we're royalty?" she whispered.

"Your Highness, you, er, _are_ royalty?"

"They don't need to know that!"

King Nova motioned the soldiers back, and he and Mira advanced alone.

"What's going on here?" Mira said as calmly and loudly as she could manage. Her voice still sounded a bit too high-pitched.

A Yelfar'en stepped forward. "We," he said with two mouths, and a broad gesture toward the crowd, "are protesting the incompetence of our government, the police, the Space Rangers, and ultimately the Galactic Alliance!"

"Why? What has the Alliance ever done to you?" Mira asked reasonably.

"Nothing! And that's just it! Crime is rampant everywhere! We cannot trust our own officials—not without a sizeable bribe at any rate. And we," he said, gesturing again to the people behind him, "are sick of it!"

The crowds roared in agreement.

Mira swallowed nervously and glanced at her father, but he said nothing, watching with a curious look on his face. "We are trying to capture all the criminals," Mira said, a bit angrily—angry at the people for being so stupid and blind, angry at her father for not saying anything to help her.

"Oh?" the alien asked softly, before turning to the crowd. "You heard her: she said _we_—she is a government agent, maybe sent to dissuade us?" He directed that last comment at Mira.

"Right on the first," she replied, her anger overriding her nervousness. "_I_ am a Space Ranger, and no one sent me here—I am only trying to put some sense in you!"

"What will anger get you?" the Yelfar'en said loudly. "You cannot stand the thought that we are finally wising up to your GA regime tactics and antics?"

"What are you _talking_ about?" Mira shouted back. "We can't fix everything at once—no one can!"

"True, true—but what about the rigged ballot boxes? What about the criminals operating on every street? The casinos stealing our money? The weapon and drug dealers? If you cannot handle these things, then we _will_."

The crowd roared in approval.

The alien held up his hands. "We don't need the GA or the Rangers—we can rule ourselves just fine! And we won't take any more stalling. Tell your Commander and your President this: the people of Tradeworld will be free! And if that means that we must be free of _you_, so be it! We will not stand for this anymore! You will fix the problems or get out of the way!"

"Fix it or go, fix it or go!" the crowd chanted.

The speaker began the march again and everyone followed, some booing and hissing at Mira, others openly shaking their fists at her.

Mira had a sinking feeling that she had messed up _big_ this time. "Father," she murmured, "what can we do?"

"What _can_ we do, Mira? I am sorry, but this is the way things are. Non-Tangean governments make mistakes, and humans and the lot are so volatile…"

Mira's mouth moved wordlessly, and she stomped off angrily.

"No, wait, Mira—come back her!" he called imperiously.

Mira stopped suddenly: the Tangean presence… it felt close, in the crowd. She peered into the dark masses and saw a flash of blue skin. She advanced quickly, but the object of her attention noticed her and receded back into the crowd.

Mira broke into a run.

"Wait, Mira, no!" King Nova cried.

Something sticky and stinking, flung by one of the crowd, landed on Mira's face. Some of the crowd laughed and picked up more impromptu missiles to throw at her. Faster than eye could follow, the commandoes' side-arms were leveled at the crowd.

"No!" Mira shouted. "I'm fine, don't shoot."

The Yelfar'en yelled something, and the crowd dropped their various missiles and moved on. Warily, the commandos sheathed their plasma guns. Mira almost thought she felt a mental smirk being aimed at her, but she couldn't be sure.

King Nova shook his head. "Mira—"

"No, Father, there was a Tangean in there! I even _saw_ her for a moment!"

"A woman?"

"I think so."

"All right, then: everyone back in the car—we'll follow them. Quietly."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Lieutenant?"

"Sir?"

"Next time, don't draw your guns over rotten food."

"Sorry, sir," the younger man winced. "I was worried, sir. I was on Tangea III during the miner riots."

"Ah," King Nova said softly. "No matter, you could have gotten us killed!"

"I beg your forgiveness, sir—it will not happen again."

"See that it doesn't." The King turned back to his daughter. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

Mira nodded icily and moved toward the car.

Watching her go, King Nova winced—he would have to be careful: he was just getting her back, and he didn't want to lose her all ready. He would have to exercise caution, for now, at least.

And something else was bothering him: the fact that Mira could sense this person better than he could sense her. But why? If the Tangean was his daughter, he was more closely related to her than Mira, since they were only half-sisters. It bothered him, and perplexed him.

Yes, he would have to be very cautious. This demonstration, it had seemed to come out of nowhere, and then there was the Tangean, his own inability to sense her… He activated his tracking beacon. Best that they had some backup, just incase.

* * *

"No, no, thank you," Buzz said in response to the proffered Rhizomian tea.

Triffid shrugged and set the organic kettle back on the organic table. "You seem worried, Mr. Lightyear," he said amiably. "Perhaps you are here to relax a bit? I know of some very nice resorts that you could visit."

"No, sir, thank you," Buzz replied. "Actually, I'm somewhat in a hurry, and I am here to see if you've heard of a Rhizomian organization called AMPOO."

"AMPOO? Can't say that I have—sorry, Mr. Lightyear… Rhizomian, you say?" the professor asked, eyebrows arched in surprise. "Is this an investigation?"

"You could say that. And please, call me Buzz—we've known each other long enough."

"Of course, of course." Professor Trifid offered Buzz some salad, which the Ranger also refused. "I must ask, what does the name mean?"

"It's the Anti-Mechanics Pro-Organics Organization. You sure that it doesn't sound even a _little_ familiar?"

"I can't say that it does—sorry, Buzz." The professor shrugged. "We Rhizomians may find your technology a little repulsive or lower-class, but I can't see how any Rhizomian would get… _violent_ over it? Is that why you're here?" he asked, alarmed.

Buzz shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You must realize that what I tell you is top secret, and not to be repeated to anyone. You understand that, of course."

"Of course."

"Well then, Star Command Professor Spiro Lepton was murdered, and his daughter said that it was a Rhizomian. Their house—er, bunker—was destroyed by a fire-weed."

Triffid stood in surprise and began pacing. "I just don't know what to say… she couldn't be lying, could she? This daughter of his?"

"That's what we are wondering," Buzz frowned, "but there seems to be no motive for her to do so."

"Hmm, well, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you right now… though I could dig around a little, see what's going on around the planet. And if I hear something I'll contact you immediately."

Buzz rose. "Thank you, Professor—I knew I could count on you. I guess I'll be leaving." He handed the professor a small piece of paper. "This is my frequency: you should be able to reach me anytime—if you can't, try Star Command Central."

"Of course. Goodbye, Buzz, and I hope that this whole mess gets resolved soon."

"Yeah, me, too." Buzz walked out, exchanging brief salutations with passing Rhizomians.

As he clambered into his seat aboard _42_, XR spoke up nonchalantly. "So, Buzz… that was quick—what were you and the Professor talking about? Top secret, eh? I understand, Buzz: you can't say around Booster." He turned to the Jo-Adian. "Why don't you go check the cry—"

"No, XR," Buzz interrupted. "Classified information—can't talk about it, to _either _of you."

"Oh, all right, Buzz, I understand," the 'bot assured him. XR _didn't_ say, of course, that he'd heard everything they had said…

* * *

Ghett 0 saluted. "Evil Emperor, Operation Discontent is proceeding. Team 3 is on Tradeworld and reports that the demonstration nearly took off but calmed down—something about a Tangean Ranger and guards. Team 85 is reporting that 'Lightyear G' was just in contact with the Rhizomian Professor Triffid, who pledged his support. Team 10 is reporting all quiet: they haven't reached their destination yet—ETA approximately two hours, and then they will stand by."

"Excellent," Zurg said, truly pleased for one of the few times in his life. "Triffid may have to be silenced, though, we'll see. Lightyear is fine, Princess Nova being at the march will be even better than I had planned, and make sure that Team 10 does nothing until Operation Rhizomian Discontent is under way, even if they have to wait a week."

"Yes, sir." Ghett turned smartly and marched back out, brushing past Darkmatter with a brief salute.

"Hey, Evil Emperor," Darkmatter spoke up, "where is Team 10?"

"Busy—why?"

"Just curious," Darkmatter shrugged as he turned to go.

Zurg abruptly had an idea. _What was that old human saying about birds and stones…_ "Oh, Darkmatter?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know Dolb Doppler?"

A wary look crossed Darkmatter's face. "Yeah, I know him—we went to Tangean Special Tactics class together. That was before I transferred to Star Command."

"He's on Tradeworld with Romac. How'd you like a little excitement?"

"Sure," said Darkmatter, something like a smile lighting his face.

"Good—pretend to try to dispose of him and the brainpod with Romac."

"_Pretend_?"

Zurg nodded. "That's right. Let's call it a game, shall we?"

"A game," Darkmatter repeated, again very wary. "Right. And what if I get taken out?"

"Oh, Darkmatter, you underestimate yourself, and you underestimate my capacity to get you out of tight situations. I'll take care that you survive."

"Yeah, sure," the younger man said quietly. "Okay, I guess I'll go then."

Zurg smiled as Darkmatter left. "Well, 'Lightyear E,' we'll see. We'll see."

* * *

The crowd had halted an hour ago, in the square before the planet's capitol building. In that hour, various people had been speaking. Tradeworld police watched carelessly, not interesting in getting into a riot.

Mira had heard just about enough nonsense to last her a lifetime. "How long will they keep going?"

"No telling," King Nova said drowsily. "These things can go anywhere from a day to a month or more, depending on how badly the crowd wants what they're asking for."

"And _this_ crowd?"

"Probably a month." He turned slouched comfortably in his seat and closed his eyes.

Mira sighed. "Lieutenant?"

"Yes, milady?"

"Are you bored?"

"Bored is only for people who cannot use their brains to the extent for which they were designed," the officer said loftily. "Or so says a friend and peer of mine."

"Lieutenant Doppler?"

"Yes. He's always saying things like that."

Mira smirked. "But are _you_ bored?"

The lieutenant considered that for a moment. "I… am not using my brain to the extent for which it was designed," he quipped.

Mira laughed briefly, then turned back to watching the crowd. "How many do you think there are?"

"Protesters? A million, at least," the lieutenant replied without stopping to think. "Wouldn't you say, Sergeant?"

"Oh yes, but I'd place it roughly half a million higher."

"Mm."

Mira went back to focusing on the Tangean in the crowd—she was still there, slipping in and out of the edge of Mira's consciousness. Her mind felt a bit strange: Tangean but not Tangean. _Maybe a half-Tangean_, Mira decided.

"How'd they get so many people together so quickly without any news coverage?" the sergeant asked over the vidphone.

"Who knows," the lieutenant muttered back. "Any weapons?"

"Only a few energy readings—nothing serious."

Suddenly, there was an angry noise from the crowd. Mira grabbed her binoculars and zoomed in on the podium: a rather official looking human was there. Mira boosted her sound-amplifiers.

"—will go back now," he said. "This protest will get you _nowhere_—I advise everyone to go home _now_."

"Or what?" someone yelled.

"You have no right to be here," the official insisted. "You will leave or we will make you leave. But please, _go_. I don't want any violence."

"There will be no violence," said the Yelfar'an who had addressed Mira earlier. "We just wish to make our points and wishes heard. We seek no violence."

"These things always end in violence," the other man insisted. "Now go—you've made your point."

"So you will consider our demands?"

"Demands!" the man spluttered. "You have no right to make any demands—absolutely not. If you have objections, you can petition the next council meeting to look at your _suggestions_."

"See!" a woman yelled—Mira realized that it was the Tangean. "I told you that they'd do this—they'll get us out of here, by soft words or hard blows, and then they'll make the galaxy believe that we are criminals for coming here! Leave this square without your demands being met and you have lost! You will never have another chance again!"

"Silence!" the official bellowed. "You know nothing—stick to your slums, you malcontents, and let decent citizens live in peace!"

Various cries of protest rose from the crowd. The lieutenant nudged his men and King Nova awake, quickly explaining what was happening. "This could get ugly," he concluded.

"Very well," said King Nova. "Signal the other car."

"For the last time," the official beyond said angrily, "go or—" He cut short by a vegetable flying at him, then more from several different points in the crowd. Mira saw the Yelfar'an try to subdue the crowd, but more fruit and vegetables came, then mud and who knew what else. Police rushed forward to protect the official.

Then a more deadly missile streaked through the air—a rock, followed by more. Mira saw one of the policemen go down, saw many of the crowd trying to leave, trying to get out of the square. They obviously knew what was coming next… tear gas grenades.

White clouds blossomed as aircraft loaded with the stuff began dropping it. Then a loud explosion flashed out from the crowd, and a ship went down flaming into the middle of the protesters.

And all chaos broke loose.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Well, I remember expressing my wish to turn these chapters out one per _week_… I was very foolish. And, unfortunately, if I couldn't do it _then_ I definitely cannot do it _now_. So I hope that all you who read and enjoy this story will bear with my rather ridicules length between chapter posts a bit longer.

As it is, I had wanted to expand this chapter, but then I realized that if I do that I will never get anywhere, so I have submitted this chapter in the hopes that it will be somewhat satisfactory.

Sincerely yours, Mandalore Thrawn


	11. Ch10: In Which All Chaos Breaks Loose

**Author's Note:**

All right, another chapter it took me forever… actually, it has been finished and just sitting on my computer. Why? I have no idea. However, before you go any further, I figure that I need to mention a few things. One: if you read this chapter you probably will be shocked... maybe, it's a little dark, I guess… and a lot to digest, but do not lynch me! It is not as bad as it appears! This is all "necessary"... bear with me: it is _not_ as wacky as it seems. Things shall become clear—besides, where is the fun in having things be near-perfect for the heroes? Doesn't leave much room for heroism. He, he, he… ;)

Two: I wrote around half of this chapter and gave it to a friend to read—the said friend relayed some _shocking _news to _me_... The said friend told me that the first scene involving Commander Nebula was _very_ similar to a scene in another fan fiction, called _Beginning of the End_, I believe. Now I don't know how true that is—I have _never_ read that particular fic and claim that I in no way copied anything and am by no means guilty of plagiarism. I repeat, I have _never_ read that piece of fan fiction and in _no_ way copied it, or took anything from it.

To EEZ (the author of the aforementioned fic), just in case you happen to read this chapter (or are told about it) I apologize for any similarities between our respective writing—repeat, I apologize for any perceived similarities. I did not know, and when I did "know" (I still don't _know_ one might say), I couldn't change it much. Now, maybe I changed it enough, maybe not. But, I am sincerely sorry if you believe that I stole from your fic, in no way have I done so or ever shall. Maybe it's just like the old saying, "great minds think alike"?

I just figured that I should say all this _before _anyone reads my latest chapter, and I _really_ hope that no one will be offended... or upset with what I am doing with BLoSC. All will be clear in time, and I'm not keen on giving spoilers. I take that back—I hate secrets, but I'm not dishing them out. So if you complain about something that is just weird about the story, I will have to say "keep reading."

Things are actually _not_ coming to a climax in this story—too early, eh? Things are going to go up and down, like waves... this chapter is needed to introduce things and start the ball rolling for what is really going on.

And once more, EEZ, I sincerely hope that neither you nor anyone else will be upset by any similarities between this fic and yours. It was unintentional. You have my word on _that_.

Sincerely yours, Mandalore Thrawn

**To my reviewers:**

P.A.W.07: Thank you for your review; I _very_ much appreciate it. Yes, Warp is seeing some conflict… Just wait, though, I am just beginning! ;) OCs… I appreciate your feelings towards OCs, only I happen to "need" a ton of those: they make _this_ story, so to speak… I hope that you'll keep reading! I really appreciate your review!

Takara Matsudiara: Sorry that I didn't respond to you review my last post; I was in a hurry and forgot. I am _really_ glad you like OA… seeing views but no _re_views kind of discourages me sometimes, you know what I mean? I don't really think that's it's worth continuing a story that almost no one cares for, so reviews give me the excuse to keep going…

And I want to say thank you to you, for saying thank you to me. That _I _did not expect. Well, as I said, thanks for all those reviews; you have no idea how much that encouraged me...

**==Chapter 10==**

**In Which All Chaos Breaks Loose**

More ships went down. Police fell with gaping holes in their chests. Some frightened civilians ran—others brandished weapons and fired.

The Tangeans raced their cars toward Lightyear, who was keeping up a steady stream of fire.

Mira felt like dying—what was Buzz _doing_?

The lieutenant bit out a curse. "Sir! Somebody is shooting at us!"

"I don't see any lasers," Mira said, eyes frantically scanning the mob.

"They're not lasers—they're what we commonly refer to as slugs, or what humans call _bullets_."

"Are you serious?" King Nova said incredulously. "Such guns are outdated!"

"Outdated, maybe, do the work? Yes. And nobody knew that they were carrying them due to the fact that they aren't laser-based weapons. Actually, it's very smart…"

"Brilliant," King Nova muttered. He jerked forward violently as something slammed into the side of the car—_hard_. The vehicle began to descend far too rapidly. "Driver!"

"Sir, we won't crash!" the driver shouted back.

"You really think you can pull a _landing_ out of this?" Mira shrieked, clutching her door. She was a trained police pilot—she _knew_ what crashes were like.

The driver didn't answer her, kept all his concentration on controlling their descent. The vehicle was smoking by the time the car hit the pavement, and the Tangeans stumbled out coughing. The second car set down to their left, to shield them from the majority of the fighting.

"Damage?" the lieutenant barked.

The driver looked up from the wreck and grimaced. "Let's just say we're walking. Sorry, sir."

The lieutenant nodded and pulled out his RPCR, checking the power as his men drew their own weapons.

"Lieutenant," the King frowned, "why didn't you tell me that you had those?"

"Sir? It's standard procedure to carry them." The lieutenant snapped his rifle into place and began tracking for any possible targets.

"Dad," Mira murmured, "don't we run a big risk of being shot down if we're seen carrying rifles?"

"They aren't technically _rifles_, Your Highness," a corporal offered, having overheard her; "we just call them that. Anyway, we'll be shot at whether we have them or not—this way, we can shoot back."

Mira shrugged, still unhappy.

The other Tangean commandoes joined them in ducking between the cars. Just in time. Multiple explosions sent debris banging against the cars—thankfully, nothing made it through to the middle.

"Stay down," Mira warned needlessly. "How far are we from the platform?"

"This is a big square, we were in the rear, but we were flying," the lieutenant replied. "However, there is a little something called a _battle_ between us and there… and, actually, we're somewhat in the middle."

Mira decided to look around, and instantly wished she hadn't. Bodies littered the pavement. The gas was starting to clear, and very few civilians were still in the area, though some continued to slug it out with the police forces and security drones.

"I don't think many people came to fight," the lieutenant surmised, relieved.

"I guess not," the King said softly. "This must be the work of some rabble-rouses, although Lightyear and the politician certainly weren't helping things." He shot Mira a sharp look. "Is Lightyear still there?"

"I see him," a commando replied. "He left the platform and is… just a hundred or so meters away."

Mira nodded. "Okay… if we can get close enough, we should be safe—even if he _is_ acting wacky. Um, why don't you set your weapons to stun, please."

The commandoes traded uneasy glances. "You don't know much about combat rifles, do you," the lieutenant said hesitantly.

"Nooo," said Mira, not understanding. _Then_ she got it, and she smacked her forehead. "_Argh_, you aren't carrying laser weapons!"

"No. For this weapon to be easily disassembled and concealed, the plasma stun setting had to be dropped—took too much room, you see."

"_Greaaat!_" Mira groaned. "Well, m'kay, try _not_ to shoot, okay? Come on."

She almost smiled when she heard her father say, "You heard her men. I guess we'd better go."

They set off quickly towards Buzz, who strolled casually now, very little fighting still going. He stopped by a man lying on the ground, alive, struggling to get up. Buzz smiled slightly—and Mira realized there was something _very_ wrong with that smile—reached for the man's hand, pulled him up, and with one smooth motion, snapped his neck and flung the corpse away, following up with a flash from his laser.

The Tangeans all halted, shocked. "No," Mira murmured brokenly. Then realization flooded her, and fury followed in the wake. "_You're not Buzz!_" She rushed at him, half blind, drawing her pistol…

The man whirled smoothly—she saw his icy, icy blue eyes and _knew_—and fired.

Something _burned_ into her right arm.

She crumpled to the ground.

The lieutenant lifted his gun.

He fell back with a charred hole in his stomach.

Mira heard a voice screaming, and distantly realized it was her own.

The other commandoes dropped and fired at the murderer, who simply rocketed into the hazy sky.

"Lieutenant," Mira croaked, her eyes starting to burn and not from her own pain. _I never even knew his __**name**_. _Why didn't I know his name_? "He wasn't Buzz…" She turned fractionally to her father, now kneeling beside her. "Daddy."

"Yes, Mira."

"I hate this planet." From somewhere far away, she heard the laserfire increase as her world smoked away to black.

* * *

"…_And it looks like Star Command is deploying roughly half its on-station Rangers to Tradeworld, while many more are being recalled from various assignments across the galaxy to aid in what is now being called the '__**Battle**__ of Tradeworld'…"_

Ghett could hardly believe the reporter. "It's working," he murmured.

"They sure know how to call the shots up at HQ," Jereca nodded.

The video feed switched from the news anchor to the fighting. Didn't look too violent anymore, but it was still happening, and it was _real_. It didn't need to be intense to work. People were definitely dying.

Several police charged into view, weapons blazing, and they all fell injured or dead as someone outside the video pickup returned fire.

"Hey," said Racker, "look at that pattern—I'll bet that was me!"

"Yeah, how _do_ you do that?" Fixer joked. "It's not just anyone who can be at two places at once. And what'll you bet?"

"I'm exceptional… and what do I have to bet _with_?"

"Shut up," Giganticus growled, "I am trying to watch!"

"How much longer?" Jereca asked Ghett.

"Until it's done," the Gargantian said.

"Not _you_," she said, exasperated. "I mean how much longer until we do _our_ job!"

"Oh."

Ghett checked the time. "Two hours until arrival, and then Rhizome needs to start first," he said. "We need to be patient—there are still too many Rangers. Once they're gone…"

"The mice with the big guns come out to play," Fixer said with a wicked laugh.

"Err, yeah, all though _mice_ is hardly fitting and none too complimentary," Ghett pointed out.

"Eh, split the difference—it sounded good."

* * *

Dolb crouched silently in the shadows, waiting for Romac. The Grounder had entered Underb's Tradeworld residence two minutes ago and hadn't yet returned. The Royal heard a sound and drew his pistol noiselessly, aiming for the door… but it was only his new and very temporary partner.

Dolb rose to his feet and lowered the pistol. "I take it no one's home?"

"No one but the spiders," Romac grumbled, dusting webs off his rather absurd blue suit.

"Hasn't been used in a long time," Dolb surmised. "What happened to him?"

"Who knows? Whatever happens to people who works with Ares, I guess—just ask the others who went with him. Anyway, _why_ again are you looking for Ares?" Romac asked nonchalantly.

"Others," Dolb repeated, ignoring the question. "The special team he gathered for an unknown contract."

"Yeah… he was offering more than any other job in the galaxy, and he got the _best_." The Grounder rubbed the back of his neck. "Some say it's his fault bounty hunters aren't as good anymore—he took the best at some point or other, and they all died." He shrugged. "It opened up the ranks for weaker thugs and amateur wannabies… somebody had to fill the void."

"Like you?"

Romac glowered at Dolb, who merely shrugged and entered the small room.

"Passages?" the Royal asked.

"Probably, but none that I can see."

Dolb took a seat at a desk bearing a rather large monitor connected to the wall, wiped the dust off the screen, and activated the machine. It whirred to life, and in a few seconds, a window appeared, requesting a password.

He turned to Romac, who shrugged. "Try ka-boom," the bounty hunter offered.

"Grounders," Dolb muttered, typing the word. He shook his head when the computer accepted the code.

Romac locked the front door and pulled another chair up to the desk. "I'm guessing this'll take a while."

Dolb didn't respond, his mind completely focused on the machine.

* * *

The first thing of which she was aware was a hard, gritty surface. Then came the noises, dimly. Then came the pain, and that was a much sharper sensation. "My arm is gonna be fried at this rate," she whispered dryly.

"Yes, I daresay it _will_ be," her father admonished. "You mustn't be so _reckless_, Mira!"

For once, she was inclined to agree—not that she would ever admit it. "The lieutenant?"

"Dead," the sergeant growled. "Lightyear fired a point-four blast—_nobody_ lives through one of those. Not without armor."

"I'll kill him, sarge," another voice said softly. Mira couldn't see who.

"Not yet," King Nova snapped. "We'll try the courts, and then he'll pay for this, mark my words!"

"No, Father!" Mira cried, alarmed, rising to a sitting position on her good arm. The world spun around her, but she ignored it. "That _wasn't_ Buzz—he would _never_ shoot me, never murder _anyone_, never kill a guard…" Her heart leapt into her throat when she caught her father's furious expression, and she clutched at his arm. "_No!_ No, Daddy, Buzz would've disarmed us if he wanted us down—Daddy, you know him, you _know_ he's a good man!" He still wasn't buying it… "Daddy, please, he's my commander, he's my _best friend_—"

The King rounded on her, glowering. "Not anymore, Mira! Until this cleared up, you are no longer a part of Star Command…" Mira recoiled as if slapped. "Do I make myself perfectly clear? I… I…"

Mira's cerulean eyes burned with a fire of their own. "That… that _monster_… _was __**not**__ Buzz_. You _have_ to believe that."

"Then who was it?"

She opened her mouth, closed it, clenched her jaw. "I'm sorry," she said flatly. "That's classified."

"I see." The King's own jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. "Sergeant, can we move yet?"

"Sir, the police have almost everyone rounded up—we should be able to move." The sergeant turned his men. "If we're stopped, everyone keeps their hands clear of their guns, got it? The LEOs will be jumpy."

"Yes, sir."

"You two, grab the lieutenant."

"Sir."

The King helped his daughter up, and they started back for the cars, intending to fit into the larger, undamaged vehicle. A group of riot police intercepted them, however, at gunpoint, one of the officers stepping forward. "Identify," he ordered.

"King Nova, of Tangea," the King replied imperiously. "One of my men is dead, and my daughter is hurt. Where is Lightyear?"

"Gone," the officer said harshly. "ID, _now_." King Nova slowly drew out his wallet and handed his card to the officer, who scanned it briefly and nodded. "Okay, looks like you're clear—_you_ can go, and we need everyone else's ID."

"Come, officer, you've seen mine, and these are my people."

"So? Just because you're the king of some other planet, we should just let everyone you want through?" He snorted. "Get real and tell your people to hand over their IDs."

King Nova would've disputed it, but Mira was in pain—so with a painful effort, he kept his mouth shut. Even so, it was about an hour before they were all able to leave—the TSOB commandoes' fake IDs really complicating matters—and by that time, Mira's arm was felt like it was burning.

"We _can_ get everyone in the one car?" King Nova asked as they hurried away from the police.

"Yes, sir—it'll be a squeeze though."

"I don't care. Just get us to the nearest hospital, as fast as you can."

"Yes, Sire."

King Nova opened up his comm as soon as they were on their way. "_Holbon_," he snapped, "get on the comm to Star Command _now _and open up a lawsuit against Lightyear as quickly as is Royally possible."

"Father!" Mira protested angrily.

"_Too late, Sire, sorry,"_ Holben apologized. _"The Tradeworlders all ready did so."_

"Add mine to theirs! They won't object."

"No!"

"_Yes, Sire. Err, Sire?"_

"Speak up, man—don't mumble!"

"_Yes, Sire… um, what are we suing him __**for**__?"_

"Lightyear shot my daughter and killed a TSOB lieutenant," King Nova snapped and closed the communicator.

Mira's fierce glare could have burnt twin holes through her father. "He _wasn't_ Buzz."

"All right, Mira. If he was not the man who shot you, we will find out at the trial."

"But he wasn't, _period_," she ground out. "I _know_ who he was."

King Nova turned and looked her in the eye. "Who."

Mira bit her lip, though the fire in her eyes didn't fade. She needed to clear Buzz, but the portal had to remain secret. If her father found out about the stupid thing… there was no telling _what_ would happen. But if it came out at the trial, anyway…

She opted for the third route. "Dad, just call Star Command and set up an appointment with Commander Nebula. I _think_ he'll explain it to you—I just don't have authorization."

"_Authorization!_" he nearly roared. "Mira! Are you a Princess of Tangea or a Ranger for the Alliance?"

She raised her chin defiantly. "_Both_, and they don't need to conflict. I don't tell them about Tangea, and I don't tell you about Star Command."

He arched a sardonic eyebrow. "Yes, and you know so many Tangean secrets, eh?"

_That_ stung, but she wouldn't continue this line. She was pretty sure that in a subtle argument, he would win—he had had much more experience… Though she would _never_ admit _that_. "Call the Commander," she said firmly. "Cancel the lawsuit."

"Tradeworld already has one, anyway."

"Dad, they are _rebels_ and _rioters_—who will listen? But if _you_ add _your_ weight to their cause, there's no telling what could happen! It could tear the Alliance apart…" She saw a thoughtful, sly grin creep across her father's face, and she knew bad had just gone to worse. _Way_ worse.

"Quite right, Mira… my, you _have_ grown perceptive, haven't you? I think that maybe I _should_ talk with Nebula—perhaps the President, too."

"No, Daddy," she urged. "No, you _cannot_ do this."

"Mira, it's time Tangea was in the position she deserves…" He reopened his comm. "Holben, cancel everything I said, understand?"

"_Um, yes, Sire, err…"_ The poor man sounded baffled.

"Do as I say, Holben."

"_Sire,"_ he sighed.

Nova closed his comm with a grin that was far from friendly.

Mira fell back against the seat, feeling totally defeated. She'd finally come up against something she couldn't defeat—her own father's devious mind. He was too smart for his own good, and he would _use_ this, down to the last centimeter…

* * *

Nebula switched off the news and sat down wearily, his mind racing. How did this happen?

A special double feature news story, titled "Shifting Universe"… it was _bloody awful_. Someone had leaked the supposed Rhizomian murderer secret, and the media all ready knew about Buzz's alleged part in what was being called the "Battle of Tradeworld" by the vultures. Nebula decided that when he found whoever had blabbed about Lepton, he would shove them out the airlock without a suit…

His comm beeped, and he flipped it open, prepared for the worst—he wasn't disappointed. _"Commander Nebula,"_ King Nova said genially, _"what a pleasure to see you! I trust I am not interrupting anything important—I realize how busy you must be."_

"Cut to the point," Nebula barked, not wanting to waste his time with the idiot.

"_I trust you've seen the news?"_ His Royal-Pain-in-the-Highness continued, unperturbed. _"Very efficient services these days… I think you and I should have a little chat about what occurred—for our mutual benefit, you see—and I was thinking that the President should be there, too."_

"Sorry, Your Majesty," Nebula nearly sneered. "I don't think that's possible right now."

"_Err, Commander Nebula,"_ King Nova began slowly, _"Tangea will leave the Alliance immediately if we don't meet, and I will offer legal and political aid to the rioters on Tradeworld, do I make myself quite clear?"_

"Crystal," the Commander growled. "I'll arrange the meeting."

"_Thank you. I'll be there in a few hours, as soon as I have my injured daughter settled."_

"Mira? What's wrong? Not another—"

"_Oh, no,"_ the Tangean quickly interjected, _"nothing like that. I'll discuss it with you when we meet, and be sure the President is there and no one else. Well, I suppose that's all, King Nova out…"_ He turned away but quickly turned back. _"Oh, just as a note—"_ the king's grin widened—_"Mira is sure that you can explain the 'Lightyear Incident.'"_

Nebula angrily slammed the comm down, his initial concern for Ranger Nova turning to frustration. _Blast that little princess, anyway_.

He didn't turn to his other work, and he didn't call the president—he just waited. Waited for the call he knew he was going to get—and, once again, he wasn't disappointed.

The comm beeped, and Nebula stared at a purely black screen. "What took you so long?" he growled.

"_Merely trying to decide how to play this,"_ a smooth voice returned, female this time.

"Where's Taurios?"

"_Busy—his schedule is hectic these days. For now you have to deal with me. Any objections?"_

"Do I have a choice?" the Commander rumbled.

"_Of course not."_

"What happened to his last secretary?"

"_We have a high mortality rate,"_ the female voice quipped. Nebula wasn't quite sure that he wanted to know if she was being literal or not. _"Now to business. You will set up the appointment, but you will say __**nothing**__ about the Alternate Universe. Understand? Taurios's orders were specific on that."_

Nebula could hear a trace of fear in her voice: she was scared he would back out now; scared he would finally show a backbone… Well, he couldn't. He _knew_ he couldn't, and _she_ knew it… and she was still scared.

"Yeah, I'll bet they were… Look, I've gone this far—why turn back now?"

"_Why, indeed,"_ she echoed. _"Commander, you've done well. Keep it up, and—"_

"I'm not in it for your rewards," the Commander bit out. "Not anymore. Taurios never promised me anything incredible when I signed up, and I want nothing from you now, understand? _Nothing_. I stopped caring a long time ago."

A beat. _"We are close, Commander: soon we'll know for certain. Zurg's bomb surely couldn't have done it."_

"You know it, and I know it, so do you have any ideas?"

"_God,"_ the voice said blandly.

Nebula shook his head. "_That's_ close? Seriously… I hope you're not going to tell me next that the rip evolved?"

"_No. The bomb served as a catalyst, maybe, but something else…"_

He yawned. "Nothing we didn't all ready know, and Star Command is no closer, so the ball is in your park."

"_No matter, Commander—just keep quiet."_

He shrugged. "Hey, look, Miss-Whatever-Your-Name-Is, if I have to hurt Lightyear in this, I am _out_, understand?"

She probably knew that he wasn't completely serious, but then again, maybe she didn't know him well enough. _"Understood,"_ she said softly. _"Lightyear won't go to prison, but Star Command __**will**__ suffer."_

"I knew that all along."

"_Commander, who do you think is behind this?"_ she asked, curiosity coloring her tone.

He laughed slightly and mirthlessly. "I figure your people might have something to do with it."

"_Funny."_ She didn't sound amused. _"Commander, in all seriousness, we need __**something**__ to go on here."_

"You have your own people—they're smart."

"_Yes…"_ she murmured. _"They aren't as close to the situation."_

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"_Maybe… Things are finally moving along: Zurg is preparing, that idiot Nova is going to make a bid, the President…"_

"Don't you dare!" the Commander shouted.

"_Oh, no!"_ the voice responded, sounding properly shocked. _"I'm no assassin, and Taurios wouldn't—"_

"Taurios _wasn't_ an assassin, and neither was Ares—not until you alienated him."

"_Yes… Ares… I don't suppose he may be still alive…?"_

"He's dead," Nebula said flatly. "Zurg murdered him—your agents told you that."

"_**Please**__, why would Zurg kill him?" _

Nebula pondered that for a moment. "We still don't know why he _hired_ him—Zurg changed right around then: stopped being smart, got dumber and dumber…"

"_He nearly destroyed us,"_ she pointed out. _"The black hole, for instance, and the Evil Lightyear, and then the death-ray."_

Commander Nebula waved his hand dismissively. "Stupid attempts—more like a whining six-year-old than an adult—and the other Lightyear would probably have gone on without Zurg."

"_You think Ares hurt him? Zurg, that is."_

"No, I think that that plague finally got to him."

"_The Tangeans."_

Nebula nodded, then realized that maybe she couldn't see the motion. "Yeah."

"_Hmm, well, it __**could**__ be, but we're worried he's on the mend from whatever happened. This lack of activity—"_

"Of course, lack of activity means he finally redeveloped a brain," Nebula said sarcastically.

"_I'm sorry, Commander," _she said contritely. _"I realize that you are probably very stressed right now."_

"Miss What's-Your-Face, I've been around a long time, I've been the Commander of Star Command almost as long as your people and I have been together, and I won't be sorry when this is over." He felt older and older every time he talked with them, and different... a whisper of the past… If only Lightyear knew… but how could good conquer "good"?

"_Hmm, I don't blame you, Commander—we'll all sleep better over here, too. I'm sorry it has to be this way,"_ she added as an afterthought. _"But it looks like it's finally time—we'll be able to rest soon."_

"Time," he growled. "Time is working _against_ you. If Zurg or Tradeworld breaks first…"

"_Commander, Tradeworld and even Zurg are more or less inconsequential—you know that. Only the Senate matters now, and your Rangers. How will they take it?"_

The Commander grinned wryly. "Do it too fast, and they'll destroy you."

"_They can try. A pleasure to finally speak with you, Commander—I look forward to meeting you for real. Good day."_

The screen reverted black to blank, and Nebula limped over to his viewport, hands clasped at the small of his back. Somewhere down on that little blue-and-green planet was the woman, and somewhere out in space was the answer.

"Ares," he said, wishing he hadn't… "You were _stupid_—_so_ _stupid_—just like me."

* * *

Dolb sighed. "Either he has no information of any worth on here, or else he hid it so well I have no hope of ever finding it in this lifetime."

"Did you look in the folder _Secret_?" Romac asked.

"Where?"

"On the desktop."

Dolb took another look. "Good…" He turned to Romac. "My dear Grounder, I am an unmitigated idiot!"

"I know." The bounty hunter sighed for good measure. "I know."

"Dear, dear, dear…" Dolb opened the folder. "No code," he muttered. "If he wasn't a Grounder, I wouldn't have believed it."

"Thanks."

"_Desioe_."

"_Grrtum bum_," Romac rejoined. He slouched in his seat, tapped the armrest idly.

"Well!" Dolb exclaimed.

Romac jumped. "_What_?"

Dolb scanned the screen. "His assignment was with Zurg… according to the log he never returned…" He sat back in shock. "_Rirmtr_."

"Boy, it must be something _really_ shocking to get a Royal to curse."

"Romac," Dolb breathed, "look at the number by the entry, to the right."

"Five—" Romac's eyes went uncharacteristically wide—"is that _billion_?"

Dolb nodded dazedly. "Zurg must have wanted him and the rest of Ares' team very badly."

"But what did he want them _for_? Nobody died around that time, nobody important went missing, no clashes with SC, no planet wars, _nothing_."

"I know, I know," said Dolb. "Let me think…"

Romac tapped the desk thoughtfully. "Is… no… um… hmm…"

"Typical Grounder," said a smug voice from behind, "can't speak a word of English."

The two Tangeans turned sharply, Dolb's pistol already up. "Warp Darkmatter," he said dryly.

"In the flesh." Darkmatter strolled into the room, grinning. "What a sight: one of the best and brightest of Royal Tangea consorting with a lowly Grounder."

"I wouldn't talk if I were you," Romac growled. "You aren't _even_ a Tangean."

"Used to be, but the job didn't suit me," Warp joked. "Gotta move on with life, y'know!"

Dolb holstered his pistol. "Here to talk, gloat, provide information… get shot?"

"Maybe a little of everything," Warp said slyly. "How's your sis?"

Dolb shook his head. "She still throws darts at your wanted poster—she printed one out and drew a scope's reticule on it."

"Oh…" Warp's grin faltered. "She _still_ hates me?"

Dolb nodded. "I never see her take sherry anymore without pronouncing a curse on you."

"Oh…" Now the grin had completely disappeared.

"You _left_ us, Warp," Dolb accused; "left us for the Galactic Alliance—and if that wasn't bad enough, you just _had_ to go and join our worst enemy! Last I saw there was a Tangean bounty on your head—problem is, no one wants to go near you."

A trace of Warp's grin returned. "So you all think I'm that good, huh?"

"No one wants to sully themselves by _seeing_ you," Dolb said flatly. "Fop was so hurt—Isa… well, you should know."

"No, what do…" Realization dawned on Warp's face. "You don't mean…"

Dolb nodded, his face hardening. "Thought you could do whatever you pleased, didn't you? I'll give you a fair shot, Warp." He turned to Romac. "Call it."

"Huh? Wait a minute, guys," the Grounder protested, obviously confused on all levels. "Is this _really_ necessary?"

Dolb nodded. "My sister made me swear I'd bring this traitor back—but only his head. She's usually very literal, so I may just need to buy a sword."

"Weeell," Warp drawled, "at least you won't shoot me in the head, then."

"Perhaps… Romac?"

"Okaaay, if you're sure about this." The younger man reluctantly lifted his handgun, and a shot echoed across the room.

Only… it wasn't his.

Dolb spun and fired dozens of shots in a spread pattern; fire from Warp's plasma cannon followed, and soon, even Romac was shooting. The wall had pulled back, and several hulking shapes were crawling or walking out.

Warp cursed. "Spider Defense Drones."

"Gotta admire a good 'bot!" said Romac.

Warp rocketed away on his jetpack, and Romac and Dolb raced out. The latter felt inclined to swear again, and he _never _did that twice in the same day. "Never have it when I need it."

"Huh?"

"My jetpack!"

Plasmafire stuttered after them, followed by a rocket.

"Turn here!" Romac shouted. They ducked down a narrow street and kept running until they were back among the crowds of Tradeworlders. "Dolb," the Grounder groaned, "we didn't copy the drive!"

"I know, and I'd hate to have a head-to-head with those things. I hear that their splinter-rockets are particularly effective."

"You mean what they _missed_ us with?"

"Err, yes."

Romac made a face, "Yeah, well, at least they weren't assigned to pursue this far."

"Indeed. Where did Darkmatter go?"

"Dunno," Romac shrugged. "An old friend?"

"Yes. Once, he and my family were very close; he courted my sister—after a fashion."

"Oh…"

"And I won't say a word more, I…" He crumpled to the ground, bursts of pain racing through his head. "_Aaargh_! Ro—" His head dropped, unconscious.

Romac stared in shock and groaned. "Why did I ever leave Tangea?"

* * *

Mira gripped her head, the pain screaming.

Or maybe it was her.

Doctors rushed in, argued over her, debated… and she fell unconscious while they babbled on.

* * *

Ivy fell back, moaning. Pain burst in Ghett's head, but he managed to stay upright. "Ivy! What is it?"

"I… I…" She dropped to the deck.

Ghett picked her up and laid her out on the ship's couch. Triss, obviously in pain as well, rushed over and began systematically checking her friend. After a minute, she looked up and reported, "She's fine. It was centered in her—in our—brains."

"I beg your pardon—how is that 'fine'?"

"No damage done," Triss said factually. "Something out there hurt her, however, err, and us. Was anyone tuned in to her?"

Ghett instantly rushed for the cabins and nearly collided with Fixer. The Rhizomian was wobbling, his eyes slightly glassy. "Sarge, Boomer is out! Something—"

Ghett pushed past him into the room to see Boomer lying on the bunk, eyes closed and face contorted. Jereca was leaning weakly against the wall. "Got me, too," she murmured.

"_What_ did?"

"Somebody was hurt—came from…" She collapsed.

Ghett turned her over, heart racing.

"Tradeworld," Jereca muttered, her eyes powered down, and for the moment, she was no longer with him.

Ghett turned to Fixer, worry written on his face. "Team 3."

* * *

Team 85 lay on the ground, heads aching. "Damage," Ghett snapped as he rose shakily.

"None," Jereca 85.7 reported. "It wasn't a weapon."

"We were all on the main wave," Ivy said as she struggled to her feet. "What we caught was Ivy 3 being hurt."

"Ridiculous!" Ghett exclaimed. "We can't connect that far unless we're…"

Shirkill sighed. "They turned us on."

Ghett shook his head. "Great. All right, comm back to Planet Z—_quickly_."

"I get the feeling they all ready know…"

* * *

Sinclair slammed the door open. "ZURG!" he roared. "Why the **** are all my Ivies down?"

Zurg turned from his vidphone screen. "Precisely what I want to know! I was told this wouldn't happen after we switched to combat mode."

"You _switched_? Whose bloody idea was that? They werenae prepared for that yet, **** it, Zurg!"

"Shut up, Sinclair!" Zurg snapped angrily. "You aren't the boss here! Get back to your clones!"

"But there are two other teams on the field beside 3! What if—"

"Calm yourself, Sinclair—85 reported in, and 10 is in their ship right now. In fact—" The vidphone buzzed. "That's them now. Excuse me, Sergeant."

"You havenae heard the last of me yet, Zurg!"

"Of course not, Sinclair." Zurg tapped his fingers together expectantly.

"Evil Emperor Zurg, _sorry_," the Scotsman said sarcastically as he left. _I shoulda known that Zurg would do something stupid, so now what? _The door to the throne room shut noiselessly.

Flight Commander Sor-vel ran past Sinclair and skidded to a stop in front of the door. "Shinclaire," he spat out, "I losht a hol bloody teamm!"

"_What_?"

"Youd hard ve: a _hol_ bloody team—de crashed indu da shkycraypers!"

"Dead or alive?"

"Avive!" he said indignantly. "Da Ships deshigned bet-er dan dat? But dey bery buch hurt and my jusht die!"

"Okay, okay." He shook his head. "Zurg knows it's happening—he turned their mindjack control to combat mode."

"Wishout conshulting ush?"

"That's about the shape of it," Sinclair sighed. "Get back to your pilots—I'll wait for Zurg an' try to talk some sense into him."

The alien flight instructor threw up his arms in exasperation and hurried back the way he had come. Sinclair leaned against the wall, determined to wait. Just what was Zurg thinking anyway? Moving the clones up a notch without consulting their trainers. Who knew what could have happened? "Experimental technologies," he muttered.

"Oh, Sinclaaair…" came Zurg's voice. Sinclair marched back into the throne room, fully prepared to lay into Zurg.

"Sinclair, good—I though that you might still be around… I need your opinion on whether or not Team 10 is capable of destroying the garrison of a Star Command prison installation on a remote moon." Zurg appeared distracted, not really paying much attention to anything.

"Well—" Sinclair thought a moment—"how much of a garrison?"

"Robots mostly, and a few organics—let's say twenty."

"Fine. Is that how many there are, though?"

"You should know," Zurg sniffed.

"Never been to prison."

Zurg arched an eyebrow. "You just shocked me."

Sinclair decided to let that go. "I'd bet my money on Ivy poisoning the organics, an' they could probably handle some… hundred guard drones? Type-273?"

"Probably."

"Hmm, well, take them off the battle jack, an' I'd say yes."

"Very well, Sergeant, I guess that's what will have to happen. We have something of an emergency."

"Ah… what?"

"Never you mind," Zurg said absently. "Go."

"Aye, Evil Emperor."

"Sinclair."

"Sir?"

"What would you do if you needed to get revenge, but someone wanted to take out the man you needed to bring down in a way so opposite of your needs and desires that it would mess your life up for eternity? And maybe even longer!" he added as an afterthought.

"I'd kill him, probably, an' then go back to settling wit' the other man, depending on the situation, of course." Zurg said nothing, and Sinclair knew he was dismissed. _All right_, _who's fooling with the Emperor's fun_?

* * *

Nebula tried to keep from fidgeting while King Nova and Madame President exchanged polite conversation—he hated this political cordiality. He idly wondered if Taurios had inserted a camera into the room.

"Well," King Nova said amiably, "I am grateful that you both could meet with me on such short notice, and I do hate to disturb you, but something of a most serious nature occurred today."

"Of course, King Nova, happy to have you here." Madame President sounded somewhat sincere, but Nebula thought he detected a trace of nervousness. She wasn't the smartest politician, but she still knew a thing or two—enough to see that Nova was after something.

Of course, _any_ politician—be he monarch or otherwise—who acted polite was after something.

"Yes, well, thank you, but now to business." Nova frowned. "You see, I was on Tradeworld with my daughter, and we were near the protestors when the riot began. Doubtless you've heard that many— including Tradeworld Police—have testified to the fact that Buzz Lightyear was, in fact, at the riot and killing protestors—even murdering them!

"Not only this…" the King trailed off and affected emotion, but then perhaps it was genuine, who could tell? "But," he continued, "when my daughter called out to him, requesting that he cease from his activities, he shot Mira in the arm and a lieutenant of mine in the stomach with his Star Command-issue laser, killing the man."

Madame President stared in shock. "Impossible," she said flatly. "It is inconceivable that Lightyear could ever do any such thing—he would never shoot at civilians, much less a member of his own team. It is just too absurd too believe!" She turned to Commander Nebula, who nodded in agreement.

"I wish it were so, Madame President," the King sighed insincerely. "Perhaps he is having mental problems? However, there is video footage—I brought some myself, having secured it from several news networks that are airing it even as we speak."

"That won't be necessary," said Nebula.

The President turned to him now in shock. "What do you mean, Commander?"

"I'm sure it would be a waste of time—I'm also sure that they _did_ see someone _like_ Buzz Lightyear. This isn't the first time something weird like this has happened. There were the Gargantians, and both of you know about the shape stealer Zurg sicced on us."

"Vaguely," said Nova. "I _hope_ that you are correct in your trust, Commander. _However_, we cannot discount the _possibility_ that Ranger Lightyear has completely _snapped_. You both know that he is no enemy of mine. He saved my planet and my daughter."

"Yet your willing to let him hang," Madame President continued in her flat tone. "I wonder why? Let's get to the point, King Nova—as you know I am not one for beating around the bush—so let me ask this plainly once and for all. _What_ do _you_ want?"

King Nova sighed. "Very well, I shall be blunt. I have a lawsuit ready to file against Star Command. _If _I join the Tradeworlders, Star Command and the Alliance will lose, and there is no telling what could happen afterwards…"

"All right," the President said calmly. She sat back, a slight smile playing across both mouths, obviously pleased that it was officially on the table. "You will bring us down and create anarchy. What will that do for you?"

"Tangea can function alone," Nova said confidently. "And anyway, we won't be alone for long."

"Noted. And I suspect you will drop the suit in exchange for…"

King Nova leaned forward. "A seat on the Galactic Alliance Security Council, Fop Doppler given a post in Star Command worthy of a Tangean Royal, and a special trade tax exemption for Tangea."

He appeared to be just warming up. "You will give us control of three of your government mining corporations around our quadrants, and you will give Tangea a voice in all the primary Alliance Agencies with a Tangean in at least one significant post per agency… and Star Command will pay the Tangean Royal family three-billion unibucks as a token of reconciliation."

"And in exchange for giving you a majority in the government, you won't sue us," said Commander Nebula. "Isn't that nice."

The President appeared to mull it over. "All right, King Nova, you've made your claims—it sounds like a lot, politically, but I feel that you have your sights set on something bigger. What is it? I don't see you as the _type _to settle for such 'small' victories. You want something big."

King Nova nodded. "Wise as ever, Madame." He turned to look the Commander in the eye. "You seem sure that Lightyear didn't attack us—so does Mira. I want to know _who_ it was that attacked us, and I want access to _all _of the Star Command secret files."

Commander Nebula leapt to his feet. "No way, Nova. _One_, Mira was mistaken about me being able to solve your mystery; _two_, I ain't lettin' you _nowhere near_ my station's computers!"

Madame President turned to Nebula. "Calm down, Commander… Did Mira think that you _knew_ who was behind the Lightyear incident? Or was she just guessing?"

"She was sure," King Nova piped in.

"She was _wrong_," Nebula rejoined. He couldn't let it get out now—they'd kept the portal hidden for so long, it couldn't get out before they were ready… "And as for you, Madame President, you _can't _give him _government _secrets!"

"I am afraid that I don't understand," King Nova said, clearly puzzled. "I was assuming that a position on the Security Council gave you access to—"

"You're wrong," Madame President cut off, shooting Nebula an angry look. "Star Command is not a technical part of the old Interplanetary Protection Force or the reserves. They replaced the former and the only the latter falls under the GASC."

"We're _police_," Nebula said, carefully emphasizing the word.

King Nova looked flabbergasted. "But, but, but… to whom do you answer, then?"

"Technically: me," the President said calmly.

"What?" King Nova sat back in his seat. "But… doesn't that make them…"

"What? Like the old style secret police?" Nebula laughed. "Not a chance—we answer to the President and sort-of the Senate, and I call the shots on a smaller scale. Y'see, Nova, even if you get your crony in the Security Council, you will have no more control over us than you already do!"

King Nova was too busy thinking to take offense. "How many people know this?"

"Anyone who bothers to wade through five thousand pages of police regulation," the President replied, clearly enjoying seeing the King baffled.

He raised a hand. "Very well… my offer still stands. I seek no control over Star Command or the Alliance—merely the advancement and safety of my people."

"All right," said the President. "You can have your GASC post; I'll leave Ranger Doppler to Commander Nebula; you can have the tax exemption and a seat in thirty-three percent of the government agencies—and we'll discuss which ones—plus we'll see that Tangea gets discounts on raw materials from the government mining corporations. Deal?"

"And the money," Nebula interjected, no longer caring about the blackmail aspects and simply wanting to close the deal.

King Nova considered it a minute, or appeared to. "I need to see _some_ Star Command files," he said at last.

"Which ones?" Nebula asked in a hard voice.

The King didn't even need to think. "Everything relating to Zurg, bounty hunters, and your time-space experiments."

Nebula's mind raced. _He must know something_…

"Deal," the President said quickly.

Nebula turned to her. "Excuse me, Ma—"

"No, Commander, I'm sorry." She turned to King Nova. "Come, Your Majesty—I'll draw up a paper, and we'll sign. I want this on _paper_. Meanwhile," she said to Nebula, "why don't you get to Star Command and prepare the information that King Nova is looking for—get everything ready?"

Nebula understood and nodded. He left without a word and strode down the hallways of the Senate as quickly as he could manage. Someone brushed against him, and he felt a paper touch his hand. He didn't bother to turn and look—just opened the paper.

_Nova can't see anything; we don't know what he is looking for. He acted too nice and complaint—don't trust him. You and I will get together soon to have a face-to-face chat. Don't worry, our contacts tell us that we'll get help from an unexpected place. If necessary, you can let Lightyear go to trial—he'll be fine, or else we'll see that he doesn't get the death sentence._

_Taurios_

Nebula crumpled up the paper and stashed it in his suit compartment. He felt better now—it was always good to have friends in high places—but he also didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. He wasn't getting any younger, and things weren't getting any better. Maybe it was time to retire… no, he would see this through to the end. He _had_ to, even if it meant death…

* * *

Taurios turned to his new aide and slicked back his silver hair. "The pod is sure?"

"Yes," she assured him, "he overheard everything."

"We'll see what help we can give this team Zurg is sending to prison 2.75459. It is _funny_, isn't it…"

"Sir?"

"King Nova will be humiliated, Nebula and Lightyear will be safe, the President will continue on in her ignorant little supposed sphere of power, the Tradeworld crisis will be crushed, and we don't have to lift a _finger_, really."

"Makes you wonder if there is such a thing as God or fate," she smiled.

"Yes… If there _is_, though, they deserted poor Ares. I wonder how he died."

"I expect Zurg killed him quickly."

"One can only hope," he sighed, turning to some papers needing his attention. "Poor Nebula—he still feels for the man."

"I thought that he hated Ares. I mean, the man was a murderer and the antithesis of the law and order Nebula stands for."

"Oh, don't get me wrong—he hated _Ares_ while he lived as _Ares_. But he wishes that they could have been reconciled." Taurios sighed again. "I almost wish it, too. Ares was an arrogant pig, but he was a good fighter and our best agent, until he found out about our past… But after he found some information on Nebula… he wouldn't stay with us. So he left to seek his fortunes elsewhere."

"Why didn't he like Nebula? I thought everybody liked the old man," she laughed.

"Don't concern yourself," Taurios said softly. "It was a private reason; he wanted to hurt Nebula—and myself—so badly… I expect that's why he went along with whatever Zurg had in mind." He shrugged. "I guess we'll never know now."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Sir."

"Hmm?"

"Zurg worries me—we can only use him so long, and all he needs to do is discover the brainpod and our influence in that sector is gone."

"Your suggestion?"

"Kill him now, while we still can."

Taurios shook his head. "I expect Ares tried that a few years ago—it obviously didn't work. If he hated Nebula and me, then he hated Zurg just as much—albeit for drastically different reasons. No, Zurg is still useful to us."

"Why?"

Taurios was getting a little irritated now. "What concern is that of yours, Miss K-k,-k…"

"Don't try, sir," she smiled. "And it's my business because I'll die too."

"Point taken. He is distracting the Galactic Alliance and Star Command—he goes, and they'll turn to other things."

"Like us."

"Yes. He is a focal point for the galaxy's problems right now—they look at _him _and say 'evil'."

"So we need him."

"Didn't I say that?"

"Until he discovers us," she continued.

Taurios nodded. "If he gets the first shot, we fall and our world with us, but Star Command still has a shot at him. Besides, he may not care about us—we operate in somewhat different spheres. He is against the GA, and I am…"

"You are."

"Precisely."

The woman held her head. "Oh, why didn't I stay in law?"

Taurios raised an eyebrow. "All right, all right, get back to your work now. I have a feeling we have a busy month ahead of us."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

It was frustrated—_again_. It was sick of dealing with these pathetic life forms. It had felt the pain of the little blue-skinned warrior.

But It _had_ made progress. It nearly had their primary language mastered—soon It would try to communicate again.

The human called "Commander" was in trouble—It knew that, It knew that things where getting worse, and quickly. It almost wished that It could walk among the creatures and aid them; It could do little here.

Its link to Xrghthung grew fuzzier and fuzzier as the mind there distanced itself from It and turned to the others on the world called "Capital."

The room around It was silent—no worship at this time of time. It was so sick of that, but It couldn't explain Itself just yet…

It had been a long time since It had begun Its duty—It now almost wished that It hadn't. Better for the little creatures to have died than become slaves to It when It didn't want slaves—It wanted _people_… not a living form of that walking metal that many creatures called "robots."

It idly reviewed the language, trying to puzzle it out, waiting… Far away, It knew that everything was coming to the fulfillment of what had begun nigh a thousand years ago. It was ready. It knew that they though that they were ready, and they weren't…

It knew that none of those involved had any idea what they where about to do. Revenge, greed, misguided heroism, true but misguided desires for freedom, a hope in the future of a world… all these ideas and more were merging. They didn't know it, but they were all so close together, so interwoven… and in the center of this swirling storm of love, desires, hopes, and hatred, stood a small few that were innocent: a man, a woman, and a thousand little copies…

It suddenly had a thought—just a chance—but It knew where It could find help. Yet to make contact, It would have to distance itself for many beats of time—_days_, as the creatures called it. But yes, It had an idea, and It wouldn't fail—too much depended on It for that.

It prepared, first reserving a small part of Itself to keep watch, and perhaps to go to Zurg-the-Desecrator…

It turned toward Xrghthung, and another world far, far away…

* * *

**Terms:**

RPCR—Repeating Plasma Combat Rifle, standard Tangean Special Operation Brigade light combat weapon (a more powerful equivalent of the modern USA M4)

LEO—Law Enforcement Officer

* * *

**Author's Note:**

All right, thanks for bearing through this far—it wasn't too bad, was it? Please, feel free to review; calmly and cordially should you not like my story. I don't mind (per se) negative reviews—only if they are rude. And again, I sincerely hope that the Nebula scene wasn't _too_ similar to BotE…

I also would like to extend my thanks to all those who have favorited my story.

Keep reading!

Sincerely yours, Mandalore Thrawn


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